into my vault

[apocllipse]

run baby run, run for your life

i'll tear out your heart, you'll always be mine

20 . any pron . intj- 5w6

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🕸️– currently listening to for her by whatsaheart

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[tonycries]

Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too. 

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room. 

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this. 

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle. 

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already. 

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked. 

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them. 

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious. 

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

. 

A weighty beat passes. One. Two. 

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this? 

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What? 

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face. 

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity. 

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better. 

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually. 

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth. 

“Out.” 

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now. 

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?” 

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him. 

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but. 

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. 

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar. 

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal. 

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away. 

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan. 

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his. 

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this. 

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth. 

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended. 

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast. 

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers. 

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants. 

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth. 

And Gojo keeps going. 

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily. 

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good. 

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?” 

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs. 

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit. 

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous. 

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together. 

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute. 

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone. 

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife. 

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch. 

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly. 

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance. 

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you. 

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there. 

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least. 

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.” 

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear. 

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side. 

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?” 

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him. 

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find- 

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted. 

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles. 

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are. 

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices. 

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper. 

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you. 

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes. 

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his. 

“Clean that room up.” 

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie. 

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[rainbowgaez]

ok guys but imagine how hard it's gonna hit if something good ever happens again

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘

- zayne x reader

being married to your childhood sweetheart should be the pinnacle of happiness in your life… but when he returns from the war, he is no longer the man you once knew—changed, distant, a stranger with familiar face. will you attain your true love in this lifetime?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage, jealousy, fluff, explicit smut, hurt/comfort, lady!reader and lord!zayne, based on zayne' card entwined kites

notes: the allure of lord zayne... yeah, that, prince rafayel and some angsty dose is the plot <3 tagging @hachisenshi @cherrywinetuscany @rjreins @redrookrising as per request

Lady of Anlan.

For years, that title was not something you covet. When you were first promised to Zayne, he had neither titles or rank—just a humble son of a small lord with a big heart and shy smile.

But you fell in love with him with such ease, as he did too for you.

And yet, that honorable title fell into your hands the moment you married him, now better known as the Lord of Anlan—

A man who is not the gentle boy you once knew. He was now cold, detached, and unwilling to spare you even a trace of the warmth he once showed so freely.

It was such a stark contrast that you were left reeling. Six months into your marriage, reality bore little resemblance to the life you had once imagined.

You had once thought your home with Zayne would be warm with laughter, shared meals, and soft conversations lingering late into the night—a place that breathed with comfort simply because the two of you were in it together.

Instead, the halls of the grand mansion granted by the emperor were cold—spacious, immaculate, and lonely.

“My lady, here.”

The voice startled you out of your daydream, snapping you back to focus as your handmaiden, Yvonne, wrapped the shawl around you.

Oh, right. Today you were accompanying your lord husband for his audience with the emperor.

. . .

The journey to the palace was smooth. You sat demurely within your palanquin, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses’ steps. Now and then, Zayne’s voice carried through the air as he issued clipped commands to his troops.

And before you knew it, your entourage had arrived at the royal palace. The palanquin doors swung open, and the first thing you saw was your husband’s stoic expression.

“My lady,” he muttered, grayish hazel eyes stern, offering his hand to you to assist you out.

Your heart pricked at the sight before you. Zayne had always been steadfast—but before all this, he was never rigidly formal with you like this.

“One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”

The memory rose then: a younger Zayne, red-faced, thrusting a jasmine flower into your hands as he stumbled through his confession. It made your chest ache even more.

The things he saw in the wars turned him into this version before you, you believed. Maybe, to him now, the tenderness you once shared during your childhood no longer held any meaning at all.

You took his hand.

“Thank you, my lord,” you replied with equal stiffness, gripping his hand. You didn’t dare look at him while he led you forward.

Yet you still took comfort in one thing—his hold over your hand never wavered, not even as the two of you came to stand before the emperor himself. It was only when he had to let go of you that he did.

“What a pleasing sight it is to see you, Lord of Anlan!”

The emperor was headstrong yet a jolly individual. From his elevated dais, he greeted the two of you with open warmth. Zayne answered with a restrained bow, and you quickly followed his lead.

The emperor’s attention then shifted to you. “And I trust the Lady of Anlan has been well?”

“I am well, Your Majesty,” you replied, fixing a polite smile in place. “Thank you.”

However, you had a feeling that the emperor didn’t actually care about you at all, as the way his sharp gaze lingered on you sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine each time.

He soon turned his attention back to Zayne, and the two spoke at length about matters concerning the fief. Then—

“Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?” Zayne asked, putting on a mask of a concerned subject.

“Oh, yes—yes,” the emperor said with a faux chuckle. “There is something that has been bothering me...”

“And what might that be?”

“Well, the princess royal is still in search of a husband. It’s giving me a headache as she insists on someone just like you… It’s such a pity you turned down my proposal back then, Lord of Anlan...”

You could feel his hot stare on you, and he continued, “Had you accepted the princess’ hand, you would be part of the royal family by now.”

You clenched your fists. It was not the first time this had been mentioned, and each time it was brought up, it always left a bitter taste in your mouth. Zayne had indeed refused a royal marriage decree and chosen you instead—but did he somehow regret that choice that it left him cold and distant to you all this time?

If so… why hadn’t he broken off his betrothal with you back then?

. . .

By the emperor’s command, both you and Zayne were to remain in Yunshao for a time—residing within the imperial palace itself.

The two of you were showed to your temporary chambers, and the moment you stepped inside, you let out a sigh. Behind you, Zayne paused, noticing your weariness.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words halted. And in that hesitation, something in your expression must have betrayed you.

“You look unwell,” he observed, tone thoughtful. “If the travel has strained you, I will have the physician summoned.”

“That isn’t necessary,” you replied quickly. “I am fine.”

The silence stretched. He was watching you—not coldly, not warmly either, simply assessing. Then, as if deciding something, he spoke again.

“I will be entertaining the princess royal shortly,” Zayne said, his voice returning to that familiar, careful neutrality. “Her Highness has arranged for it. It would be improper to refuse.”

The princess, again. The woman who had once sought him as a husband never seemed to miss an opportunity to summon him whenever he was within palace walls. Lowering your gaze, you were silently irked.

“Do you… have to go?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Yes.”

A default, logical answer. You had expected this but somehow your heart still hurt regardless.

“I see,” you murmured, the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Zayne didn't linger. As he turned and walked toward the door, his steps were quiet.

And the space between you suddenly felt wider than the vast halls outside your door.

The palace was a world of its own—lavish courtyards, lotus ponds glimmering beneath carved bridges. Servants moved like shadows, each bowing, each whispering, each watching.

Yet none of those gazes ever lingered on you for long.

You were the Lady of Anlan, yes—but not a lady of imperial blood. In a place where lineage was currency, you were a mere general’s wife. Polite smiles were given, greetings exchanged, but you passed through the palace halls like a quiet breeze.

Zayne, meanwhile, was constantly summoned—councils, briefings, private audiences. You saw him only at night, and even then not much that could be talked about.

And so, you learned to occupy yourself quietly. Reading beneath shaded pavilions. Feeding the koi in still waters. Watching the sky shift from pale gold to indigo behind tiled rooftops.

It was during one such day that the palace stirred with unusual excitement—an envoy had arrived from Zhaole.

It was Zhaole’s prince himself who had come to negotiate trade routes. You paid it little mind at first as foreign politics had nothing to do with you... until you were summoned to attend the audience.

You stood at your designated place within the grand hall, slightly behind and to the right of Zayne, when the doors opened.

“His Highness, Prince Rafayel of Zhaole, has arrived!”

Silk banners bearing unfamiliar insignias unfurled as the entourage entered. At its center walked a man whose presence seemed to bend the air around him.

Prince Rafayel was clad in white robes embroidered with cerulean and gold-threaded waves, the fabric flowing like water with every step. His long purple hair and porcelain-like skin were striking. Exceptionally refined and handsome. There was something artful about him, like a masterpiece aware of its own beauty.

His eyes swept across the hall lazily at first—measuring ministers, skimming over the servants—

And then they stopped. On you.

For a fleeting second, you wondered if you were mistaken. But no—his gaze sharpened, as though he had found something unexpectedly intriguing among a sea of expected faces.

And a second later, he smiled—at you, before he resumed his walk.

The prince came to a halt before the dais and offered a bow for the emperor.

“I bring greetings from Zhaole,” he said smoothly, his voice clear as a plucked string. “I am Rafayel. I trust Yunshao’s hospitality will not disappoint.”

The emperor responded with booming warmth, welcoming him to the court. Formalities were exchanged. Polite laughter followed.

But you would never expect what would he do next.

As the formal greetings concluded, Rafayel’s gaze suddenly shifted towards where you stood beside Zayne.

“My apologies,” Rafayel said lightly, tilting his head with deliberate curiosity. “I do not believe I have been introduced to the lady standing beside the esteemed Lord of Anlan.”

The hall grew quieter. You felt Zayne’s posture stiffen imperceptibly, and you—caught beneath the weight of the prince’s attention—found yourself momentarily at a loss.

The emperor chuckled. “Ah... that is the Lady of Anlan.”

Rafayel stepped forward, not too close to breach decorum, but close enough for both your and your husband’s discomfort.

Up close, his smile softened, eyes gleaming faintly.

“Oh, Lady of Anlan...” he repeated, as though tasting the title. Then, inclining his head toward you in a gesture that was respectful, yet strangely personal, he said, “It is a pleasure, madam.”

And that was how you went from being overlooked to the subject of every whisper within the imperial palace.

“Hey… did you see what happened earlier?”

That evening, the palace held a banquet in honor of Zhaole’s prince.

The grand hall was transformed beneath the glow of lanterns. Music drifted softly through the air, accompanied by the quiet murmur of noble voices and the occasional ripple of laughter.

“The imperial prince of Zhaole— he specifically greeted the Lady of Anlan!”

And yet, Zayne wasn’t amused in the slightest.

It was one thing for his wife to become the subject of palace whispers—that alone was enough to draw attention he did not welcome. But it was another thing entirely to realize that his wife had caught the interest of a royal prince.

Zayne didn’t show it openly. His expression remained as composed as ever, but throughout the night, the faint crease between his brows lingered longer than usual, and his gaze would settle on you often.

It was most probably nothing, he told himself. A passing curiosity. A prince’s fleeting amusement in a foreign court.

Across the hall, you stood beneath the lanternlight—radiant without trying. You, his childhood sweetheart, had always been a dear to him.

After he was done conversing with an official, he made his way towards you.

“My lady,” he greeted quietly. You jolted at the sound of his voice, turning to face him.

“My lord,” you replied.

Once, you had called his name freely, whenever you wanted. You would tug at his sleeve, demanded his attention, laughed without restraint. Zayne didn’t like this formality between you, honestly.

“Take a respite if you are tired,” he said then, mostly out of concern. “You have always disliked attending banquets.”

You let out a quiet sigh. “And you have always endured these far better than I ever could.”

When had your relationship become this strained? There had been no single argument that shattered everything. No cruel words spoken in anger that could not be taken back.

Only distance. Distance that crept in so quietly neither of you had noticed until it was already too late.

Zayne inhaled slowly. He didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t remain silent either— and so he did:

“…Don’t get too close to the Prince of Zhaole.”

You frowned faintly, seemingly not taking his words well. “What are you implying?”

“I am saying,” he began slowly, “that you should not allow his attention to draw you in.”

However, contrary to your usually docile demeanor, your expression hardened immediately.

“I’m not so naive.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him. And then, you pulled back slightly, your chin lifting. “You speak as though I’m incapable of judging character for myself.”

That was not what Zayne was getting at at all, but you were already irate. “I don’t—”

“You entertain the princess, a woman who tried to make you her husband,” you went on, eyes sharp. “So tell me, why is it acceptable for you… but not me?”

Zayne held your gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The music swelled faintly around you, but the air around you felt cold.

There was a lot he wanted to say. That you were not meant for another man’s curiosity. That you are reserved for him only. That to him, you were precious more than anything.

But he knew better than to say it aloud, because you already looked at him with resentment.

“Take care of yourself.” He finally left you with those parting words.

He had never been a man of excessive affection or one to indulge in sweet words. Love, he believed, was best proven through stability, protection—through ensuring that you would never lack comfort nor security.

“Lord Zayne!”

But to give you everything, he was bound to give himself to his duties first.

Zayne held back a sigh and turned towards the voice—the princess royal, a vivacious woman trying to attract his attention, and forced a straight face.

“Your Highness,” he greeted evenly.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his cup, the cool porcelain grounding him.

. . .

While the banquet was lively, the laughter felt distant, the lanternlight a little too bright against your tired eyes. After the argument with your husband, you were honestly considering to retire for the night.

Your chest still felt tight.

It felt like an ache you could not soothe, because you honestly had enough of everything in this marriage. You wanted a husband who was present, not just dutiful— and Zayne wasn’t really fulfilling what you really desired.

You exhaled quietly, intent on leaving the grand hall behind. However—

“My lady.”

You were stopped in your tracks. The velvety voice came from your right. You turned.

Prince Rafayel stood nearby, dressed in darker robes of burgundy, the candlelight catching in the gold embroidery. Up close, his gaze was as intent as it had been earlier—unabashed in its attention.

He inclined his head politely, lips curved in a bright smile. “I trust the palace has been treating you well.”

You lowered your gaze in courtesy, once again bewildered by his presence before you. “His Majesty’s hospitality is generous. I lack for nothing.”

“Is that so?” he questioned lightly, “Is it just my imagination then... that you don’t seem particularly fond of it?”

The comment caught you off guard. You looked up at him, startled. His expression softened, as though aware he had stepped too close to something unheard of.

“Forgive me,” he said, lowering his tone. “It’s merely an observation. I suppose when one’s husband appears to be too close to a certain princess, you’re bound not to enjoy the evening.”

His gaze flickered across the hall, and you instinctively followed his line of sight only to see your husband with the no-nonsense princess, ever composed and attentive. You looked away.

“They say the Lord of Anlan is unmatched in the battlefield,” Rafayel began idly. “That he drove back the pirates without mercy and won the Emperor’s favor through sheer merit alone.”

“Yes,” you said softly. “He did.”

Rafayel glanced back at you, studying your expression.

“They also say,” he continued, “that he governs Anlan with fairness. That the people trust him. That he is a man who does not bend easily, nor does he offer himself cheaply to gain favor.”

Everything he said was true. Zayne was always steadfast. Honorable. Respectful. He had always been that way—even as a boy.

“Yes,” you admitted quietly, a smile slowly forming in your lips. “He is.”

Rafayel watched you for a moment longer, as though weighing something. Then, he reached for a nearby tray and lifted a cup of sweetened wine, offering it towards you.

“While all of them might be true, even the greatest man does not stand alone. Behind him is a woman just as remarkable. You must not diminish yourself beside him, my lady.”

Your breath stilled. An imperial prince was telling you that you were worth more than what you thought you were.

“You may not be a princess,” Rafayel continued, his voice warm but certain, “but you are in no way lesser. Everyone here knows it to be true—or at least, I do.”

Your cheeks flushed from the heat and flattery. “Your Highness... Thank you for your kind words.”

Prince Rafayel’s gaze held yours with quiet sincerity, still smiling. Your fingers closed around the cup before you could think better of it.

“And right now, you are far too lovely to spend the evening looking as though the world has wronged you.”

You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and raised the cup to your lips.

The wine was sweet. Warmer than you expected, and the slight bitterness loosening something tight within you.

“Yes, just like that... chin up, my lady. The lanterns favor you better that way.”

You hadn’t realized how much you needed it.

Rafayel said nothing more, merely gesturing lightly when another tray passed. And when your cup emptied, another found its place in your hand.

And then another.

The warmth spread slowly through your limbs, softening the sharp edges of the evening. The distant laughter no longer felt so piercing. The ache in your chest dulled, and replaced by a fleeing sensation and your own laughter.

You drank, and drank... perhaps more than you should have.

But for the first time that night—

It became easier not to look across the hall.

At some point, Zayne realized he had not seen you in a while.

The moment he found a lull in his conversation with the princess, he excused himself at the first opportunity. His eyes swept the grand hall, but you were nowhere among them.

A faint unease settled into his chest, until he passed by his personal guard—

“My lord,” he bowed slightly.

“Did you see the lady?”

“I believe the Prince of Zhaole was seen escorting Her Ladyship out to the western terrace.”

Zayne’s eyes hardened. He immediately made his way towards the said terrace. He found you at last—

And Prince Rafayel stood beside you, too close for his liking.

“My lady, are you sure you’re fine?”

And you—

“Am fine! I’m fine!”

Your hand rested against the stone railing, posture swaying, your cheeks flushed and gaze watery. Flash of anger immediately filled Zayne’s sense at the sight.

Rafayel noticed him first and he turned to him courteously.

“Lord of Anlan,” the prince greeted smoothly, his expression calm. “I was merely keeping your lady company. It seemed the evening had become tiring for her.”

Zayne moved past the prince, taking big strides without acknowledging him.

“…My lord husband?” you murmured, voice soft when your eyes finally landed on him. Zayne immediately reached for you.

“Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, trying to ground you. But you staggered and crashed into his chest. His jaw tightened as he pulled you into his embrace.

That accursed prince had seen you like this.

“I shall take my wife back,” he said through gritted teeth.

Rafayel inclined his head with easy grace, putting on an easy smile. “Of course.”

Zayne put his arm around your shoulder, steadying you. You leaned into him instinctively as he led you through the quiet corridors, away from the prying eyes.

By the time you reached your chambers, your steps had grown even more unsteady. He guided you inside carefully, dismissing the servants with a glance before they could speak.

Your husband sat you gently on the edge of the bed, meanwhile you were still trying to get your bearings, blinking slowly.

“Are you alright? Do you feel dizzy?” Zayne asked, unable to conceal the worry in his voice. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly against your warm skin, frowning deep. “I’ll get you some water.”

Your gaze followed his every movement as he crossed the room and poured water into a cup. He knelt before you again once he was done, holding the cup carefully toward your lips.

“Drink,” he coaxed gently.

You stared at cup of water. Then at his hand. Then at him.

Then, with clumsy defiance, you pushed the cup away. Splash!

Water sloshed over the rim, spilling onto his robe and the floor below. Zayne froze.

However, not caring about it at the slightest, you raised your hand abruptly, your finger pointing at him—

“You terrible, detestable, wicked—”

You might be slurring, but your eyes burned with clarity as you spew profanities at him:

“—husband!”

The last word left your lips and you slumped. Throughout the years you had been with him, Zayne had never seen you so openly wounded like this. He stared at you, at a loss of words.

You swayed where you sat, your arm falling limply back to your side.

“Yvonne said I’m pretty,” Your nose scrunched faintly as you sniffled. “My maids said I’m pretty too...”

Zayne tried to reach for you again, but you refuted his touch.

“And Prince Rafayel—” you continued, sounding borderline delirious, “He said I’m no less than a princess... So why—”

Your lashes were wet, tears blurring your vision, and your lips trembled as you glanced up at him:

“—am I not enough for you?”

The question pierced him cleanly. Zayne felt something twist inside his chest at the sight of you. He knew that with everything that had happened, you were bound to resent him. But he had loved you... still loved you even at right this moment.

He closed the distance between you then, gently and firmly taking your face in his hands before you could turn away again.

“Enough?” His voice dropped, dangerously close to breaking. His hazel eyes searched yours as if trying to carve the truth directly into your heart. “You are... You are more than enough.”

His thumb brushed away the tear that fell down your cheek. Something flickered across his expression— the hurt, but when his eyes shifted to your lips, it was replaced by something far more possessive.

“And you— must only look... at me.”

And then, Zayne crashed his lips into yours with fervor. One hand on your waist, he pulled you flush against him. The taste of salt lingered between you, your tears mingling with the heat of his mouth.

“Mmm...” You gasped into the kiss, fingers instinctively clutching at his robe—still damp from the water you had spilled.

He softened only slightly then, angling his head, kissing you slower but deeper. His thumb traced along your jaw, coaxing you to respond, to open for him. And when your lips parted for him, he groaned, before inserting his lips to tangle with yours.

Each kiss lingered, pressed harder—until you melted into breathless sighs against his mouth.

When Zayne finally pulled back, his grayish hazel gaze held yours with such intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“You are more than enough,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “You undo me.”

His hand slid to your cheek again, gentler now, almost reverent.

“And if I have failed to show you that, then that’s my failing.”

You were half-conscious and all thoughts emptied from your head, spellbound by the restrained desire in your husband’s look.

His thumb traced your lower lip, swollen from his kisses. “Don’t measure yourself against another man’s gaze.”

He would show you how you meant to him, he vowed.

“For mine has never left you.”

. . .

Six months into marriage, and you had learnt that your husband wasn’t as gentle as he looked in marital bed.

With practiced fingers, he worked fast on the laces of your robes as he guided you to the said bed. He kissed the path from your lips to your throat, nipping at your skin— and at the same time, he palmed your breasts, his thumb brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate circles until it tightened beneath his touch, sending a sharp, aching warmth through you.

“Zayne...” you gasped, arching to his touch.

“Tell me what you want, wife,” he growled against your ear, flicking your nipple in the process, making you squirm. “Tell me.”

Words failed you as his kisses grazed your collarbone, leaving love bites there. He followed the path from your shoulder— and you were in for a ride when he took your erect nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

A cry slipped from your lips, your nails digging into his hair. The sensation was overwhelming—heat pooling low in your belly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as your husband shamelessly suckling you.

“Ahh, mmrgh…”

He held you firmly, feeling every tremor running through your body. But suddenly, he lifted his head, lips glistening and eyes dark with lust, gazing straight at you. “I want to hear you first.”

“I...” your breath hitched, swallowing the shame. “I want your... mouth.”

“Beg.”

You fingers curling weakly against the sheets. “Your mouth, please—” you breathed out, heat blazing on face, “all over me.”

His lips quirked into a satisfied smile. “As you wish, my lady.”

And with that, Zayne moved to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, his sinful tongue swirling before he bit down gently on the flesh.

“Mmngh!” you moaned, head falling to the pillows. His mouth was relentless, and true to his word to fulfill your desire, your husband made sure you were sated with his mouth first.

He rained hot, open-mouthed kisses throughout your chest and abdomen next, and stopped just below your navel, dark eyes clouded with predatory haze.

The thought that he very much could get you swollen with his child after this night was through made himself hard. If his seed were to take hold within you tonight— even Prince Rafayel would know better.

His hand tightened at your waist, his lips pressing into the softness of your folds—and a second later, lapping at it like a man in throes of hunger. You gasped, grasping his hair, as he devoured you down there.

And in no time at all, your lord husband made you come on his tongue.

“Ah—aaah...” Your thighs trembled around him as pleasure washed through you.

He is cruel... You were hazy with drunken lust and tears, but you no longer cared enough to resist.

“Stop…” you whimpered. “Just… make love to me already…”

Your husband’s stern, hazel eyes turned to you, slightly widened at your bold plea. “Is that truly what my lady wishes?”

You glared at him. “Yes.”

And he honored your wish without hesitation. Zayne rose, shedding his garments with swift movements. His magnificent length sprang free, thick and hard, his hand closing around it as he stroked himself slowly—his eyes never leaving yours.

Your lord husband is very, very tantalizing, indeed...

He moved over you, settling his hips between your thighs. One hand wrapped around himself as he dragged his length slowly through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He pressed against your entrance, the tip nudging there before he stilled, dark eyes once again confirming yours.

“Are you ready to take me, wife?”

You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him closer. “Please, Zayne— now.”

And with that, he pushed himself into you. You writhed, broken gasps spilling out of you—the way he stretched you was perfect, sinking into you slowly, making you feel every inch of himself.

Zayne grounded you by resting his forehead against yours, groaning into your mouth like a beast in heat. “Perfect,” he choked out.

When he began to move, you lost all your wits altogether. His thrusts were slow at first, each one reaching inside you impossibly deep— “Ah, ah...!”

But the rhythm did not stay gentle for long. It grew steadier, more insistent and faster. The lewd sound of skin slapping resounded in the room, your breathless moans mingled with his harsh grunts.

“Look at me,” Zayne commanded, voice rough. His hand came to your chin, turning your face toward him. “Look at your husband.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting his captivating gaze. In that fleeting instant, you thought you saw everything reflected there—lust, the aching need to be closer than flesh could allow, love.

He adjusted his angle, and suddenly struck that one spot that made you cry out. “T-there!”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as he aimed for that spot again, and again, relentless in his pursuit. Your vision blurred, your cries filling the room, clutching his shoulder helplessly as his unforgiving fingers found your clit—circling and rubbing it, driving you closer and closer to the brink.

And a second later, pleasure crashed through you without mercy. Your walls clenched around his girth, and the feeling of how you pulsed around him pulled a rough sound from his throat, making him lose his control at last.

He thrusted deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt as ropes of his cum filling your womb— sowing a part of himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when your eyes fluttered open was the warmth.

Soft, steady warmth wrapped around you, and golden sunlight filtered through the window, spilling across the bed in beams. For a moment, you simply lay there, suspended between sleep and waking, your body heavy.

Then you became aware of something else. An arm draped securely around your waist—

Your breath caught as the memories of the night before flickered faintly at the edges of your mind.

Last night, you and Zayne were...

You unwittingly let out a gasp, and your voice woke your husband.

Behind you, Zayne stirred. His hold tightened instinctively for a second, as though even half-asleep he refused to let you slip away. A low murmur brushed against your ear—

“…You’re awake.”

His thick voice sent a faint shiver down your spine. You slowly turned in his arms.

You were greeted with his beautiful face. The familiar line of his jaw. The faint crease between his brows as sleep gradually left him. The dark grayish hazel of his eyes as they focused fully on you.

It had been so long since he was in your bed. Long enough that waking up like this—tangled together, bare beneath the sheets, his warmth still wrapped around you—felt almost unreal.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, your eyes grew glassy, emotion rising too quickly for you to contain. The sight of him made your chest ache.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, catching your forlorn expression. A realization dawned on him—

His arm loosened at once, withdrawing from your waist as though your skin burned him. He shifted back, putting a small distance between your bodies.

“I won’t touch you again,” he said, voice steady, the spark in his eyes dimmed. “If last night was… a mistake in your eyes, then it will not happen again. I give you my word.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. After enduring days and nights of feeling unwanted, to experiencing the most exalting night in your life— only for him to spew this nonsense—

“You stupid, stupid lord!”

Before he could react, you seized the nearest bolster and smacked it against him. Zayne blinked, completely caught off guard as you struck him again.

He instinctively grabbed the sheets to cover himself, trying to shield his face from your assault. “Wife—”

“How dare you—!” you snapped, hitting him again. “You have ignored me for literal months, always busy with that damn princess, and then bedded me— only to say that?!”

Another blow landed against his shoulder.

For a man who commanded armies and terrified courtiers with a glance, Zayne looked utterly defenseless as you continued your attack, his hair disheveled, sheets barely clutched around his waist.

“You’re awful!” you continued, your voice trembling now for an entirely different reason. “I thought—”

Your arm faltered mid-swing, your grip on the bolster loosened. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you choked out, the first of your tears falling.

The way you teared up made Zayne’s expression change instantly. He moved before you could turn away, his hands found your wrists, drawing you closer despite the awkward tangle of sheets between you.

“How could I not want you?” His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the tear there. “Marrying you… has been my goal from the very beginning.”

Your breath hitched. The memory of that spring replayed in your mind’s eye once again: “One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”

Zayne’s jaw tightened in regret as he pulled you into his embrace.

“But apparently it was just the start, not the end. After our wedding, I thought that my duty next is to ensure you never have to want for anything. That if I build enough stability… enough wealth, then you would never feel lacking. And in doing so, I neglect something far more important.”

His other hand rose to cradle your cheek fully now. You found his steadfast gaze.

“You.”

Zayne leaned his forehead lightly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time there was no pride left in his voice. “I should have treated you better. I should have been beside you more. Not just as your husband in name—but in truth.”

“You’re so silly.” You stared at him through your tears, poking his chest. “All this time… you thought I only needed wealth? Security?” Your fingers curled slightly in the fabric of the sheets between you. “I was right here, and yet you strayed so far away.”

If being silly was what would get you with him, then so be it. Zayne’s eyes softened in a way few people would ever be allowed to see.

“The girl who chased fireflies with me in the jasmine fields…” he smiled despite himself, picturing the little you who were always full of laughter for him. “When I asked her to wait for me, I also vowed that I would never let her experience any hardships in life once she came to be with me...”

You shook your head immediately, your hand sliding higher, resting over his heart firmly.

“I wanted to marry Zayne,” you said, looking at him with a frown. “Not the Lord of Anlan.”

Something in his expression broke then—not painfully, but like frost melting beneath the first warmth of spring.

His forehead rested against yours once more, his eyes closing as though savoring the closeness he had denied himself for far too long. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, and in that touch was his love for you.

“And you did,” he whispered. “You married a man who has loved you long before he ever became anything else.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I can’t prolong my stay within the imperial palace any further. My wife wishes to return home, and I don’t have it in me to deny her.”

Zayne’s voice was calm and unwavering as he stood before the throne, posture straight and expression composed, facing the ruler of the land himself.

“As for the princess… I am certain a worthy match will present himself in due time. So I humbly ask that Your Majesty refrain from summoning me again for this matter.”

The emperor scoffed, seeing the two of you off with thinly veiled exasperation, but this time, Zayne didn’t bend, nor did he seem troubled by the emperor’s displeasure.

He had chosen you, and from now on, he would continue to do so.

. . .

Preparations for your departure followed swiftly. Your servants and handmaidens moved with practiced efficiency, gathering belongings and readying the palanquin. Yet their eyes lingered, subtle curiosity passing between them as they noticed the unmistakable change.

“Have you seen them?”

“His Lordship hasn’t left her side once.”

“I’ve never seen him look at her like that before…”

Their voices carried in hushed murmurs, behind sleeves and lowered gazes, and you pretended not to hear, only greeted them with the brightest of smiles.

When the time came to board the palanquin, Zayne turned to you and offered his hand openly, a faint, reserved smile resting upon his lips—one meant only for you.

The servants fell into stunned silence as you placed your hand in his, in awe at the picturesque sight of their dashing lord and beautiful lady. It was a simple gesture, one they had witnessed countless times before.

But this time, there was clearly something different in the air.

He helped you into the palanquin carefully, his hold steady—as though you were something precious. And this time, he didn’t ride the horse, but went inside along with you.

“…I think they’ve reconciled, at last,” one handmaiden murmured softly.

“It’s about time,” the lord’s personal guard sighed.

A heartfelt smile appeared on Yvonne’s face. “Ohh, I’m glad!”

And truly, they all were.

They had always admired him—their stern, unyielding lord, a man of discipline and honor.

And they cherished you—the general’s lady, whose kindness had touched every corner of Anlan.

To see the two of you now, no longer separated by silence but standing side by side as husband and wife… It felt like watching the very first blossom of spring unfurl after winter.

And as the palanquin began to move—carrying you home, Zayne looked at you with the tenderest of smiles, never once letting go of your hand.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[kiefbowl]

women will feed and bathe and school and love on their sons, and those sons will grow up and be like "historically women didn't contribute to society. men did it all" like moms should be allowed to late stage abortion into month 960

[pab10n]

[valleyofwater]

Tomorrow.

[ndsoda]

I finally read JJK Modulo

[retiredpeach]

Valentine's day

[kcokaine]

big yuji

[torucider]

streamer!choso fanart 😸

[tonycries]

SLAM DUNK - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru - campus boyfriend, MVP of the basketball team - can score a slam dunk but he can’t score you?! So what could go wrong when he asks you for pointers…in the bedroom?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, D1 basketball player!Gojo, college AU, friends-to-Iovers, PINING Gojo, kinda romcom, popular!Gojo, spin the bottIe, kíssing for “practice”, first times (Gojo’s), handj’s, semi-pubIic (locker room), fíngering, he comes back for more, oraI (fem rec.), PÚSSYDRÚNK Gojo, running from it, spítting, p talking, chokíng, matíng presses, manhandIing, he’s tall, Gojo with a big D, making it fit, talking you through it, tummy buIges, p sIapping, rough s, breaking the bed, creampíes, slight cúmplay, confessions, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.3k

A/N. *throws loverboy Gojo at you and runs*

“Let’s play spin the bottle!”

There wasn’t much room for rational say. Not when Shoko was already pushing an empty beer bottle into your hands, Haibara practically vibrating with excitement as he shuts the door to the raging party outside.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most sophisticated of games - but what else could you expect from one of Geto and Gojo’s infamous house parties?

“Fine—” You’re smiling, to the slurred cheers of your messy lil’ circle of friends. “But if I get you, Sho, you better watch out.”

She puckers up dramatically, “I’m looking forward to it- that is, if someone doesn’t kiIl me fir-” 

“Shut up, bob cut.” Ah, the star of the show cuts her off hastily, a drunken flush creeping down his neck. You’re raising a brow at the impatience - but when Gojo Satoru speaks, everyone listens. Everyone waits as the bottle in the middle spins.

And spins.

And spins. 

And stops-

Geto is the first to crack a grin, “Oh, Satoru~”

“Oh.”

Notorious chatterbox, mean loudmouth, and the student that had oh-so-famously gotten detention for probing into Professor Gakuganji’s sex life - but that was all Gojo had to say right now?

With a slight huff of laughter, you’re staring down the amber bottleneck- aimed directly opposite you, towards where your friend was sprawled across the carpet like he owned it. 

Which was, honestly, how you’d always known Gojo. 

Whether it was on the basketball court or accosting you on the very first day of orientation, there was a reason every student on campus knew his name. Knew his number. Knew the nights of his parties. 

But didn’t know whether they wanted to be him or be with him. 

Which was why it made your heart thud in a singular beat of surprise to glance upwards and find Gojo looking so…lost. Rosy lips parted, chest unmoving like he’d forgotten to breathe. 

And somewhere down the line, you swear you notice him gulp. Biceps straining against his flowery button-up as he pushes back those angelic white bangs of his, Gojo’s azure eyes flit furiously between the bottle, and you, the bottle, and you, the bottle-

“Ehem.” Shoko coughs into her fist, with the pointed subtlety of a sledgehammer. 

You see her flick a finger towards the wide wooden closet that loomed ominously by the far wall. “If you’re going to eye-fuck, I suggest you do it in- hck! there like the game says. Uta’s about to throw up already.”

Said Utahime dry heaves, “I’m not.”

“And who suggested this game?” But you’re standing up to a few jeers anyway- what’s one silly kiss between friends, after all? It was a small group of your friends, and a few stragglers starstruck by their proximity to Gojo. 

Though, turning around, you’re realizing that Gojo was, too. 

Narrowing your eyes in confusion, “Satoru?”

Gojo’s tongue darts out to nervously wet his lips, “Yeah? I- oh.” Geto reaches over to thump his best friend on the back, making the other man startle into a stand.

Stumbling up on agile feet for a few steps, before he’s crossing the circle to grasp your hand in his large ones-

And that just makes the room erupt.

“That’s my boy–!”

“Don’t get pregnant– I can’t be an uncle yet.”

“Yuck.”

Cackles, cat calls, and a few obnoxious moans that ring out even louder than the thumping bass from the party downstairs. You’re crinkling your nose in amusement once Gojo flips them off and speedwalks towards the closet with crimson ears, dragging you straight in tow.

“Sa-Satoru.” You’re giggling, stepping inside the stuffy space. 

The smell of prized vodka and mothballs cling to every surface of the closet like an outdated perfume. And from where you’re pressing yourself up against one mahogany wall, you can feel the soft press of clothes tickle your body. 

It was dark inside - darker than dark, in fact. Your only merciful source of light coming from the dim yellow glow of Haibara’s room from underneath the cracks in the door. 

But even with the cloak of obscurity, you can already make out how snug of a fit it was inside. 

Because Gojo was towering - what else could you have expected from the ace of your university’s basketball team? 

Unruly strands of ivory brushing against the closet ceiling, broad shoulders cushioned by either wall. He has to press two palms upon either side of your body and lean down just to hear you speak, “Do you want to do this? Y’know we don’t have to-”

“Yes.” He’s breathing, labored. Uneven. Before catching the glint in your eyes and sputtering- “I mean- ah, I mean, why not.” Wincing, “…Do you?”

You hum, taking in the heady scent of his cologne. Cherries. “I mean— we should be good sports about the game.” 

“The game- the game, yes.” Gojo nods, a thin line of sweat starting to bead from his temple. And maybe it was the punch, maybe it was the dizziness of being so close- but did Gojo Satoru just stutter? “So you…want to kiss me?”

Your head tilts in question, and he flinches at the teasing look in your eyes. 

Fuck, was he ever-so-glad it was too dark in here for you to see the way his ears burn. 

“I-I mean, of course you want to kiss me.” With a slight puff of his sculptured chest, Gojo fluffs up his hair. Nose turning up in that haughty way it often did whenever someone asked for his number. “Who wouldn’t? I’m Gojo Satoru, after all. So, of course, I should kiss you, too- and I should s-stop talking and do that right now and- wow, is it just me or is it really hot in here-”

Then you’re shutting him up - with your mouth on his. 

Murmuring into his parted maw, “Shut the fuck up.” And the only thing sweeter than the taste of his soft, candied lips was the way that Gojo presses his ripped body further against yours and moans. 

Low, primal. Like it was something being wrenched from the deepest depths of his throat and he couldn’t possibly control it even if he wanted to.

So the only thing his poor, muddled body can think to do is lap at the glossy crevice of your own lips. Wobbly mouth tuggin’ on your greedily, it was almost cute the way that Gojo’s grunting just as soon as you pull away with a lewd wet noise-

Staring at him in awe, even in the darkness you could make out the ruddied shade of his blush. 

“Uh…” You pipe up, after a few seconds of silence, your friend’s gaze still locked on your lips. The skin of his cheeks flare red-hot underneath where you’d grabbed him with your hands. “Hello? Don’t tell me I broke y-”

He’s attacking your mouth once more. 

Ravenous, Gojo’s sultry lips drag allll across yours. Washboard abs pinning you to the wall of the closet, the pointed tip of his nose bumping messily into yours. He lets off a throaty keen as you’re parting your mouth with a gasp, “M’sorry.”

“H-hngh, Satoru-” The temperature inside this lil’ space heightens enough to make your goosebumps sizzle.

“M’sorry.” He’s drunkenly whispering, one of his meaty knees saddling right between your thighs. You’re whimpering at the feeling of his flexed muscles, “M’sorry m’sorry I-” 

One of his trembling hands slides up n’ down your back, as if Gojo didn’t trust himself to hold too still. And his touch was seeping warmth through your thin dress, lungs screaming for air-

“I’m sorry, it’s just- you. I don’t think I can control-” He’s interrupting himself with another chase of your mouth, sloppily sucking on the tip of your tongue. Gojo lets a slick puddle of drool formulate on the corner of his swollen lips, eyes glassy when he’s kneading his hips forwards to rut- “D-did you know that this is my first-”

“Time’s up lovebirds—! Oh.”

The sudden explosion of light strikes you like whiplash, and both of you snap your heads towards the entrance to the closet.

Geto stands frozen, slightly silhouetted by the bedroom glow. But nothing - absolutely nothing - can hide the way his sly eyes widen ever-so-slightly, caught off-guard by the vision before him.

He darts his peripherals to Gojo’s hands dipping dangerously low on your hips, to the manner you’re pinned against one wall, to the way your lips are swollen.

And Gojo’s were worse. 

It’s only then that your head’s clearing up enough for you to try and half-heartedly push at your friend’s heaving chest- to no avail, of course. Because Gojo doesn’t move a single inch, in fact, he’s only tugging you closer to him with a slight growl. 

Looking over his shoulder at the intruder, his eyes narrow—“Fuck off.”

“This- we-” You’re starting, unsure why you were so heated when this was the entire point of the game. 

But Geto beats you to it- “Well, this is certainly better than I thought. I expected our dear Satoru here to piss his pants and faint. Congratulations.” He points at something near Gojo’s khaki shorts, “Fix that.”

Fix…? In unison, you slowly swivel your heads down and find your mouth drop-

“Fuck! Suguru-” It’s only then that Gojo lets go of you like the mere feeling of your body scalded his own. 

Back shoving against the other end of the closet, both hands flailing downwards to hide the massive outlined bulge you’d caught just a glimpse of. And yet, even that wasn’t enough for him to hide the utter raw tightness in his pants.

Your mind sparks once you register that he was rock-fucking-hard. 

Handsome cheekbones all stained with rouge, you catch the smear of your lipgloss glitter all across Gojo’s lips when he hisses at the other man. “It went down just looking at you.”

“Liar.”

“Asshole.”

“Vir-”

“Shut up.” Slightly slurred by your moments prior, there’s a slight daze within Gojo’s stare as he turns to you - still covering his erection. “I-I can explain, I actually-” 

Whatever half-baked excuse it was, you don’t have the privilege of hearing it. 

Because just then, rings out a call of your name—Shoko. And you could recognize her rarely-serious tone anywhere, making you hastily step out of the closet. Leaving behind a sputtering Gojo Satoru and a snickering Geto Suguru to instead head back to your circle. “Everything alright?”

A few cackles escape your friends at the sight of you - all dishevelled and kissed stupid. 

Hell, even Shoko manages to break through the worried furrow in her brow to let off a slight giggle. “Mhm, my greatest apologies for interrupting Satoru’s little wet dream-” Ignoring the aforementioned man’s cranky ‘hey!’ as he closely follows you. “-but Uta isn’t feeling well, so we might just head back.”

You nod, “I’ll come-”

“No no, stay with-”

“We should get her to bed.” You’re waving off her protests, a no-brainer to go with the friend who was visiting all the way from Kyoto. Picking up Utahime’s bag as she starts to fight back her gags once more. “It was probably that cheap beer, I told her not to trust anything Usami bought.”

It’s with a few rapid goodbyes and promises to send photographs that your little trio staggers out of Haibara’s room, Utahime clinging onto both of you. Babbling weakly, “M’sorry for ruining your love story.”

The pit of your stomach twists with something you don’t know how to name, “You didn’t ruin anything.” Brows furrowing, “And what love story?”

“B-but-” She wails, making a few heads turn. “-but it’s been years- mmpf!”

Shoko sighs, one hand firmly slapped on Utahime’s mouth now. She throws a meaningful glance at her friend, “We’re never drinking again.”

Meandering through the throngs of people and alcohol, at an equal ratio - you’ve just got a foot out of the penthouse doorway; the one that Gojo rents for him and his friends, the hotspot for your university’s student body to be on a weekend night-

-when Gojo himself breaks through the overstuffed crowd. 

“W-wait–!”

“Satoru?” You’re swerving back in confusion, eyelids squinted at the flashing strobe lights. 

The party atmosphere paints his pale hair in red n’ pink, bringing out the prettiest specks of grey in his blue irises. 

And Gojo gasps, he heaves - seemingly more at the sight of you than the entire trek it had been to weave through a party that yearned for but a simple glimpse of him. Even now, he was deaf to the calls of his name from all sides, the hands patting him on the back- only letting out—“Do you…want to do something?”

You almost have half the mind to look behind you, “Do something?”

“An outing.”

“An outing?”

“A science experiment.”

“A science experiment?” You gawk, slightly appalled at the fact that Gojo Satoru of all people wanted to take up extra credit on a weekend. “Did you drink that bad beer too? Because-”

“Dammit-” Without warning, he’s smacking his forehead. “Just- just meet me, to talk about something. I’ll text you.”

You have to fight to keep your voice even- from amusement if not for genuine concern. “And you couldn’t text me that? You had to run all this way.”

He almost pouts with a huff, “Had to say it before I lost my nerve.”

“But-”

“She’ll be there.” Shoko’s vocalizing from your right, still holding up a dangling Utahime. And there’s something knowing - something meaningful - in her smirk, “I’ll make sure of it. If you beg on your knees, that is.”

Gojo flips her off in two seconds.

Then he’s on his knees in one.

“G-get up–!” You damn-near shriek, feeling the party buzz and gape at the encounter - you think you even see one attendant pull out her phone and start recording, sure to make a splash in the campus bulletin by tomorrow. “I’ll be there- just- go-”

Still unsteady from whatever the fuck that was, you’re shuffling into the elevator for Shoko’s Uber. still feeling Gojo’s stare burning into you afterwards. 

Blissfully dazed as the doors close behind his slight, anxious wave, Utahime cups your cheek and slurs. “You’re going to make such beautiful hck! babies. All from you, of course.”

.

.

.

“So…what did you need to talk to me about?”

“T-talking? Did I say talking? Well, I was really gone that night, y’know that-”

“Satoru.”

“-and we’re talking right now, aren’t we-”

“Satoru.”

If it was physically possible for a basketball player - numerous inches over six feet, unfairly chiselled, with a shock of white hair above all - to hide behind a humble convenience store shelf then Gojo certainly didn’t know how. 

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

And his tufts of pale bangs flinch at the stern tone of your voice, despite being separated by an entire aisle. 

Blatantly avoiding being in your proximity, Gojo’s simply pushin’ aside a few bags of chips to peek at you from the other side of the shelf. Shoulders hunched, eyes crinkling once he’s noticing your no-nonsense stance. “You see…remember how, last night, had that little erm- problem-”

“Your erection?” You’re questioning, purposefully not lowering your voice to make him squirm.

And he shushes you frantically, looking around the store - there was only a sweet elderly lady a few shelves down, and he was hoping to the heavens above that her hearing aid was turned down. “Yes- yes, that. And I said I could explain…well…”

“Well?”

Inhaling a deep, deep breath, “I’mactuallykindofatotalvirginandIwantedyoutohelpmewithsomepointersmaybe.” He’s forced to inhale an even deeper breath after that. 

“Y-you’re a…” It felt like you’d just short-circuited. Only one word from that entire jumbled mess standing out to you - virgin.

Not that there was a problem with that. It’s just- there was no way that Gojo was a virgin - not after all the stories that girls and guys alike would whisper about him in bed. Not after the harem of fans that would follow him ‘round each party like a second skin unless your friends dragged him away. Not after the way he had a new number being begged to be put into his phone every day. 

And yet, Gojo’s nodding at your unspoken question.

Somehow, it suddenly made sense that in all the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him go on a single date. But no one had to actually date to hook up. Sputtering, “And was that your-”

“First…kiss…” He grimaces, fingers twitching like they were about to topple the entire aisle of chips just to escape this conversation. Before smoothing his features back with a gasp- “B-but that was the best first kiss I could’ve ever dreamed of- I kinda did dream about it later but…”

As you start to slowly back away, he waves his hands fervently. Panic seeping into his voice, “Don’t run!” Withering at the way the old lady nearby turns, “I-I mean, that’s exactly why I need you. I need you to teach me–!”

You feel your heart race, voice lilting high. “Teach you?”

“Teach me how to—” Your friend waves his hands wildly, and you’ve never seen him so stressed - not even before his biggest games. “-not embarrass myself if I do something like that.”

Crossing your arms, the thought churns over and over in your brain. He wants to…kiss you again? “So…let me get this straight- you want me to give you lessons on how to kiss someone?”

“And maybe…other…stuff.”

“Satoru, you us want to hook up-” 

“Teach me.” He pleads, baritone crackling just a bit. A sharp smack resounds as he clasps his hands together in prayer position, “I just need you to give me a few tips- a few pointers, I swear. Just a few lessons so I won’t embarrass myself like that ever again. I could get on my knees again if you want-”

“No! Shut the fuck up.” You bark out, hands coming up to massage your temples. “I need to…think.”

And all it takes is one look at the other lady beside you two, discreetly turning her hearing aids up, for you to stride your way to Gojo’s side of the aisle. Right where he was holding up a packet of chips like a shield, waiting for you to burst. 

He wants to be intimate with you.

He wants a repeat of the party.

He liked it?

Something about that, you liked. 

You sigh, a sound that felt years older than you were. “Fine.”

“Yes-”

“But we’re doing this platonically. And I’m only doing this because I don’t wanna hear you begging. Or hear any girls laughing at you, because that’s embarrassing for me.”

Your head swivels behind you - ah, perfect. The two of you were loitering right between the chips and contraception shelves. “Lesson number one, wrap it before you tap it.”

Gojo starts into motion, eager to please. Though, it wasn’t very pleasant for you once his hand shoots out immediately to pluck at the gold n’ black box of Trojan Magnum…XL. 

“Hah! That’s funny.” Your grin twitches at his blank expression, “That’s a joke, right?” Then completely dissolving at his silence. “…Right?”

You’re still ogling in utter disbelief even as you walk to the weary young cashier, in line behind that old lady. “Satoru- are you sure you need that one? Lesson number two is you don’t have to compensate.”

“I’m actually worried it won’t fit.” He frowns, closely reading the measurements in the back. And from the corner of your eye, your imposing fellow customer gawks, discreetly hurrying up the payment. “Maybe lesson number three could be the pull out game.”

And right before you can answer - maybe make fun of his confidence, maybe even call off the entire deal altogether - the grim elderly lady taps your arm before leaving. “Good luck, dearie.”

.

.

.

“Sh-shit.” Gojo’s mouth closes and gapes stupidly, and no matter how much his firm chest heaves, he can’t steady his pitch. He can’t catch his breath. 

He can’t even think about anything other than the feeling of your soft, pretty hands wrapped ‘round his rock-hard dick.

A quick trip to your apartment later, with him backed into the corner of your couch, and you’re not making fun of him anymore. 

You knew what they say about men with big feet - but Gojo’s throbbing erection was even bigger than you could’ve imagined. 

Just about nine- maybe even ten hot, pinkish inches that glistened with a steady stream of precum. So hard that it looked painful, so thick that you’re having trouble closing your wrist over his circumference. 

Gojo’s slender hands grabbing onto each side of the couch to push n’ push his restless body upwards. “Shit shit shit- what the fuck-”

Grappling, fighting, in a split-second he feels the crown edge of your thumb graze his slit and damn near loses his mind. 

“Shiiiiit—” Almost whiny, if this was any other time then he’d be fucking embarrassed about the way his bass cracks at the very end of his sentence. 

“Shush, Satoru.” Your voice purrs, and just the sultry sound of it is enough to make his swollen cock twitch. Glistening out a treacly line of pre from the strawberry-pink orifice at the top of his shaft, “Lesson number three is to learn to be quiet. My landlord’s gonna complain.”

“Well, lil’ landlord Higuruma doesn’t have your cute hands on his cock, does he, beautiful?” 

“Well you’re failing the lesson then.”

“Fine.”

In retaliation, you’re giving him a looong, languid stroke along his vein-covered length. Mouth watering at the delicious way it makes him throw a hand up to cover his flushed face, other hand resting on your wrist.

Gojo’s hands were big- bigger than yours, and much more suited to help pump his prolonged cock with ease. 

Possessively, he’s curling your pretty fingers tighter ‘round his girth and bounces up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down. Whispering, “Faster- faster now, my girl- I mean- beautiful.”

“It’s just-” You’re nearly biting down on your own tongue, reluctant to state anything that would feed your popular friend’s ego. 

But you just couldn’t help it when he looked so pretty - eyes glazed with unshed tears and need, high cheekbones permanently pink, his fat cock pulsing between your fingertips with each passing second. And you swear the blushin’, bulged tip of his shaft swells even bigger with your intense stare, “Lesson number four is that you’re big. It makes it almost…difficult.”

“O-oh.”

Without a second of warning, Gojo’s slouching his muscular body over. Rosy lips pursed to depart with a glob of spit— straight down to the tip-top of his erection.

Letting the sticky mess trickle down the side of his shaft, he’s moving your hands to glue over his tender underside. Fap-fap-fapping rapidly, the sides of your pinkies spank against his bulky base and make him keen. 

“Difficult? Difficult?” Tonality just seeping with grunts, your touch smears the glossy webs of saliva down each vein. “M’passin’ this lesson with flying colors- oh, you’re gonna take it. How could anyone even- ngh- compete?”

“And here I thought y-you were the competitive one.” You’re garbling out your words, feeling your palms massage with the zig-zagged ridges of his length. 

“H-heh- hell yeah, I am.” With a pant, Gojo’s twisting his hand - one of his encapsulating both of yours, and something primal in you twitches at the stark size difference - to jerk down his slicked cock. “Faster.” Voice ruined. “Faster.” Breathy. “Fast- ngh-”

He can’t even think to finish his sentence before his body ruts- ethereal head thrown back, lips gnawed raw like bubblegum. “Oh, ohhhh, never felt like this.”

And Gojo Satoru - famed for his steadiness, his agility - had never sounded so uneven. With his sweaty scalp lolling back and forth like he didn’t know whether to push backwards or keep looking down at your work. 

Drag after lewd drag. 

He was so lengthy n’ big that your arms were almost aching at this point, repeatedly pumping from the ruby-red globe of his cockhead, and down, down, down. 

“Pretty hands hck! tired, huh?” But Gojo’s only maneuvering faster- capped knees spreading on the cushions of your couch to buck into you faster. “Come on- come on come on- don’t stop.”

“S’this any different from your- hah- usual routine, Satoru?” Even you were out of breath at this point.

You’re flicking your doughy fingerpad in a lazy line underneath the flared line of his slit and watch as Gojo only babbles. “Yeah- never felt something so…f-fuck, why are you so soft.” Large palms pressing down on yours, exactly where you could feel the outline of his shaft pulsing the most. His shoulders shake with each singular thwack! of your hand hitting his hilt, white curls bouncing. “So tight-”

Your friend’s fingers were dexterous, curling inwards so that your manicured nails would graze his swollen balls. 

They were slightly tanner than the rest of him, glittered with speckles of buttery precum that you take it upon yourself to gyrate your palm against. Purposefully pressing down lecherously–

And when Gojo looks up with a slight, dopey grin you knew that whatever fell next from that devastating mouth would not bode well for you. “Wonder if your pretty pussy would be just as ngh- tight.”

You feel your poor heart stutter—“Sh-shut the fuck up.”

“Ohhh- that almost made me cum.” He’s admitting through a raspy gasp, cadence giving way to something needier. Something harder. Something that was nearly scraping the flesh of your hands raw with his white happy trail. “S-say it again-”

“Shut up-”

Sapphire eyes squeeze shut, and the front of your poor skirt starts dripping with a few creamy wads of his pre. He was close. “Ngh-” 

Thighs pressing together, suddenly you’re realizing just how drenched your panties were. “Aren’t you supposed to be- fuck, learning a lesson?” And oh, were you shocked you managed to keep your voice even.

“Mmm, I’m learning alrigh’---” Gojo drawls, looking at you with such heated half-closed eyes that you can only more thoroughly drag your thumb down the line of his sensitive slit. “Shit- stop that- wait, don’t stop-”

Brain sparking, he’s singing out in protesting groans at the same time as your furniture. The cushions dipping as Gojo’s lurching his lanky body off of the couch, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to fuck your first for more, more, more or run away–

“Learning, huh?” You’re cracking a grin in amusement, hands letting off the sappiest squelches as you decide to slow down for his own sake. “Lesson number five…”

“No!” He’s pulling you back, he’s wrestling your hands to jerk faster, he’s grabbing you by the throat- left hand clinging onto the sides of your neck and squeezing. 

Scorching hot breath wafts your face as Gojo’s staring dead-on into your own pupils, “Stay. K-keep going. Keep going.” Something at the back of his throat makes him choke. “M’so close- don’t you fucking stop.”

“Fuck, Toru-”

“So fucking—” Your skin heats up with clammy warmth following the feeling of his sleazy eyes sweeping all down your body. Your hands working over time. Your hips slightly bucking back. Your tits-

Which he’s tugging down to see with an index hooked to the front of your top.

And you catch the exact moment that he does - the exact moment that his long, ivory lashes flutter further open, mouth parting with slick drool, face flushing.

Because that very day, you’d just-so-happened to have worn a special set of blue underwear. The exact same color as his eyes.

And it’s enough to make Gojo cum. Instantly.

He couldn’t even have the rationality to be mortified at the pathetic suddenness of it, because all he could do was lock his heady gaze onto your bra-clad tits n’ cream all down your wrist. 

Hot and aching.

Throbbing.

“Mmm, Satoru.” Splurging out from the swollen end of his shaft - the same shade as a strawberry, and twice as plump. Now with buttery sap to match. Something about that makes your mouth water. “Cum f’me- cum more.”

He was fucking up through each peak of his high like he was dying to pump each n’ every drop into your pussy. 

“Fuh-fuck.” And it’s hot, almost like he was melting out into you. A slow line of sweat dripping down his temple at the utter bursts of pleasure behind his hazy peripherals. “Cumming—m’cumming so much for you, beautiful.” Hauling your body closer to his, he’s spraying such thick, ribbony volumes of cum that you almost couldn’t believe it.

Jaw unfastened at the rapidly-growing puddle of ivory sap on your skirt. He’s so sensitive that he’s flinching just from the sound of your voice, like his favorite song. “Do you always cum so much, Satoru?”

“N-no—” Gojo huffs, slightly squeaky with his unstable pitch. “Only for you. When it’s you, I…”

Trailing off, both of you look down in synchronization at the glaze of white cum that’d started to trail down your forearm. And before you can let out a single word, he has one hand tuggin’ on your wrist.

Guiding your trembling fingers to unglue from Gojo’s pulsing, reddened cock with a sluuurp! He’s promptly sucking on your glossy fingertips with a moan. 

“Mm, so good.” Heavy erection still bobbing with the zaps of his euphoria, he looks up at you through long lashes - in a way that makes you gulp. Something he’s surely feeling, if the way that those fingers tighten on your neck says anything. “S’sweeter when it’s by you.”

Oh.

You’re fucked. 

.

.

.

“Oiiiii—Satoru—!” Whenever Geto spoke in that tone, it couldn’t mean anything but trouble. He looks past the (multiple) groups of the usual onlookers, “Your cute lil’ girlfriend’s here~”

“Geto Suguru, you know my name.” You’re snarling from your close seat on the first row of court bleachers, realizing only too-late that you made a fatal mistake. “A-and I’d never be this one’s girlfri-”

“Ohhh, did you hear that?” Of course, the inky-haired man is ignoring every word that falls from your traitorous mouth. Nudging a disinterested Nanami, who pretends to read something on the ball. “Didn’t deny the girlfriend part. I think you owe me ten yen.”

You squawk, “You bet on us?”

“You bet only ten yen?” Gojo Satoru, equally as indignant, but for a completely different reason, waltzes off of the court as Coach Yaga approves his dribbling check and calls for the next. “Way to show your faith in me, bro.”

Geto grins, walking onto court, “Can you blame me?”

And you didn’t know what made you sigh more - the furious cheers and cat calls emanating from Gojo’s fans, who never failed to show up to a single practice, or the way he saunters right up to you.

Expensive sneakers squeaking on wood, carrying with him the scent of adrenaline and cherry bodywash. With such a devastating grin, he winks towards the audience - and you swear you see at least one in a replica of Gojo’s 06 jersey faint. 

“Y’know, I think our lessons are working, beautiful.” Snickering at your surprised gasp, “The aura of…experience, it’s working. Yaga told me I was on fire today, Sugu said I was glowing and asked me for my skincare routine. Hell, even Nanamin - Nanamin - didn’t recoil in disgust when he first saw me today, which, considering Nanamin, is the equivalent of getting a big kiss on the lips as hello.”

“I thought these were lessons just for your future reference?” You raise a brow in suspicion, one that makes him sweat. 

“S-semantics. Hey, something’s working, isn’t it?” He waves a lengthy hand - and you can’t help but get struck by flashbacks to just a few days ago. 

It’d only been about two weeks since your little deal - and you’d been taking it slow. Well, as slow as you could get when your first day was spent fisting his furiously needy cock. 

A few kissing lessons here, maybe another handjob there. And Gojo was lapping it all up the exact same way he would when he was in the middle of a game, focus laser-sharp - and constantly locked on you. Only you. 

“…Right.”

Your partner-in-stupidity opens his mouth- but just then Yaga barks—“Gojo Satoru. If you have enough time to flirt, throw some hoops before the Kyoto match.”

“Ay ay, captain.” With a slight roll of his eyes, he’s giving you one last glance over his shoulder. Mouthing—‘After. Practice.’ And your heart races as you manage to make out, ‘Locker.’

Throwing a wink just for you - and the basketball in his hands, right along with it. That dimple at the edge of his grin was dazzling, “This one’s for you, beautiful—!”

He shoots. 

And he misses. 

Geto misses too, too busy rolling on the floor cackling. 

.

.

.

“M-mmm.” Gojo’s hiccuping, tone coming out ragged. And then he’s gasping- like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or sob at the tight feeling of your mouth. “Take it-”

You whimper, strugglin’ with the thick, reddened end of his cock bulging all the way near the back of your throat. Oh-so-swollen that it was swabbing into every nook and cranny inside of your maw without even trying. 

Gojo was ruthless - he was mean. 

Fucking into your mouth like this was the first taste of the pearly gates he’d ever gotten, and he’s writhing with each of your hollowed-out sucks. 

Acting like he wasn’t damn-near spearing your mouth permanently open into a cute ‘oh!’ with his size. One hand clawing onto the crown of your sweaty scalp, the other letting go of his useless wet towel now.

You’d just barely seen all the members of your university’s basketball team filter out, before Gojo - freshly showered, already half-hard - had dragged you into their spacious locker room.

And it almost reminded him of that first night in the closet, back scraping against the metal of the locker. Pushing you in so close that he can almost feel the way your tastebuds flood with saliva, “Take it take it- t-take it-” 

Rutting. Grinding. 

Your nails claw red, red lines down the pale expanse of his thighs, each muscle getting newly-decorated by you. “M-mmpf, Satoru.” Nostrils flaring, you feel his plump mushroom tip slip deeper past your throat the moment you relax. 

“Fuck- fuck yeah, say my name.” He’s spitting through grit canines, “Say my name like that- s’better than any fanchant I’ve heard.”

Gojo always became so honest any time he was bending to your every whim like this.

And right now he couldn’t stop prattling away between each heavy groan, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of his weighty girth sagging on your tongue. “Bet they didn’t know you’d be on your knees like- ngh, this f’me, huh, beautiful?” He titters, giving you a thorough rut of his inches until you feel the globe of your friend’s tip scrape down your throat. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

It was almost too much.

The scratch of your ridged taste buds, salivating down every sensitive ridge on his erection. The prettiness of your teary eyes peering up at him. 

“Bet they didn’t know that- ngh, that sharp mouth would be shut up like this, huh?” Bucking. Thrusting- the heat of your mouth was just so heavenly that he can’t stop chasing it.

Not stopping for a single second to let the clingy back end of your throat part from his cock. He sticks his pelvis up and probes deeply into a sinful lil’ spot at the back of your maw that you didn’t even think was possible. 

Something hitches in his breath, snowy brows furrowing once he feels the dripping slope of your pussy gyrate up his calf. “That you’d like it so much.”

Again and again. Gojo’s repeatedly pushin’ in until he could feel the soft back of your mouth form a bruise in the exact circumference of his girthy tip. “Think ya like it even more than me, beautiful.”

“E-easy there, tiger. Lesson number number five is to pace yourself.” You’re trying to smoothen your tone - unsuccessful, of course, when he’d just been hitting your voicebox hoarse. 

Sensually - slowly - he’s managing to regain a mere ounce of control in that sloppy cadence of his. Loooong, massaging drags that plunge the ruby-red crown of his girth, Gojo’s still making sure that your velvety tongue licks up every solid inch of him.

You plop your swollen lips specifically down on the flared line of his slit and suck. “And lesson number six is to just- hah- shut up and take it.”

“N-ngh, love when you’re mean to me.” He’s grinning, one hand snaking down to his meaty base. Soon enough, your pursed maw is being positively showered with a spray of his dewy precum. 

A glittery gloss gluing all down your chin, you make sure to stick your lips along the prominent lines of his veins and smear-smear-smeeeear. All down the extra-tender spots of his shaft that makes Gojo shoot his free hand out to grab your throat with a labored whine. 

“R-real fucking dangerous.” He’s spitting - literally, a wad of spit that aims straight onto your sizzling tongue and makes an even bigger mess. 

Squeezing your neck, feeling the large cylindrical bulge that was reaching for your lungs. 

He could feel himself move with each back n’ forth of his toned hips, tightening until that particularly bumpy outline was making him lose his mind. “You’re real fucking dangerous with this pretty throat n’ these- hngh- preeeetty lips.”

You’re mewling, tears welling up behind your eyes when Gojo’s using the restraint on your throat to pull you off of his cock ever-so-slightly. For a few sultry seconds, just to spew out a translucent polish of precum. “And this pretty- pretty gloss.” Milky beads decorate your lips, they’re dripping down the front of your chin and makes him flinch carnally. “H-heh, say it again, beautiful. Say it when you’re hck! like this?”

“Shut the fuck up, Satoru.” Muffled, through the press of his painfully hard cockhead sliding between your lips. Once. twice. 

Thrice. “Nghhh- just like that.” The star player’s head falls back against the lockers with an echoing thud! when you start bobbing your head even faster. Syrupy precum welling up inside your mouth as if someone had just opened up a fountain. “Makes me s-so fucking hard.”

“Tight-” You manage out, gasping for air. Past all the animalistic ruts, past the squeeze of his lengthy fingers on your throat. And you can’t help but motion your pussy down and up the muscles of his leg, leaving a glittering trail of slick everywhere you go. “So- ngh-”

“So- so fucking—” Shit, Gojo cracks open one of his dazed blue eyes and can’t even finish his sentence at the pure sight of you.

Your eyes dazed, jaw stupidly unhinged. the entire lower half of your face glistening with all his bittersweet sap. Taking and taking each of his visceral ruts - you were absolutely ruined.

And he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.

So much so that Gojo’s body moves before his mind, barely even stopping to think before unplugging his cock from the back of your throat with a filthy squelch–! Manhandling you into a standing position with only one arm, he has your back shoved against the lockers with the other.

“S-Satoru, what are you-”

Flipping up your skirt- plump, pinkish cocktip kissin’ the wet slope of your pussy. It’s the only thing Gojo needs to be creaming himself near-dry.

To plaster your jittery thighs together with the silky, white syrup of his cum, soaking your flimsy panties. Gojo’s sweaty bangs tickle the inside of your throat when he plops his face down on your shoulder and groans, “Fuck. F-fuck fuck fuck-”

And he isn’t just reaching his high- he’s trying to fuck you through it.

Trying to drill his aching hot cock between your legs, the fatness of his length keeps on pushing against your clothed cunt needily. “Y-y’know, I’m reeeally good with my hands, beautiful?”

“Y-you are–?” Your breath hitches, limbs starting to quiver weakly. Your entire spine zaps with eager pleasure as he’s lazily sliiiding aside your panties. “S’that lesson number seven?”

“Seven- eight- sixty-nine, heh, whatever.” Chuckling into your skin, you swear he’s tugging astray your panties and cumming once more just at the sight of your pretty, sopping panties. 

Hips surgin’ forwards automatically to smear a line of seed between your plump folds, Gojo’s mouth drops. “Oh.” His forearm comes banging down on the locker beside your head to cage you in, “My first time c-cummin’ on a girl.”

His entire body’s wracking with shivers once he’s guiding up stripes of his meaty mushroom tip along your pussy. Uuuuup and down, stray hand pryin’ your sloppy folds apart to paint your cunt a syrupy white from the inside itself-

Slimy fingerpads pushing you all open to dollop out generous helpings of his cum - fuck, honestly he doesn’t know what feels better. Those electric bursts of his orgasm, or the feeling of your fluttering wet cunt as you take it. “And she’s so preeeetty.” 

“Pretty–?”

It’s a fucking battle for Gojo to rip his half-lidded eyes away from your naked pussy, but when he does it’s to kiss your temple sweetly. “You’re pretty too, my girl- beautiful.”

Something in that gentle tremble of his voice makes your hands grip for purchase on the holed surface of the locker. 

And you can only whisper, “Sh-shut up, Satoru.”

“Shit-” Nearly forgetting that the rotund, throbbing end of his shaft was still aligned with your cunt. Just one move and he’d be throwing away just about all his first times. You’d be all out of lessons. 

Somewhere along the slight pang of disappointment at the thought, you feel his overstimulated length twitch—

Catching Gojo staring wildly at that one particular hand of his - the one that was stuffed between your messy legs and spreading your pussy so that he could splurge out his splotchy cum to the maximum.

“Oh.” Realization hits you like a truck. “N-no, Satoru, don’t-”

Before he sucks on his stained, white-topped fingertips like candy— moaning, the blur of his irises roll all the way back to the depths of his skull. “Yeah–” He’s noisily lapping up each ounce of your slick n’ his cum, like the utmost delicacy. “Yeah, m’learning a loooot from these lessons of yours, beautiful.”

“You’re filthy.” You sputter.

“You made me this way~” He leans in close for a kiss, and you can’t admit to yourself that you’d gotten slightly addicted to the taste of his mouth. The plush, cherry-tinged flavor of his lips, glossed with your filthy concoction from before. “Ya like the taste?”

You scoff instead of an answer, “Go shower.”

Pulling back with a mwah–! of lips-on-lips, he reaches for the puddle of his towel on the floor. “Wanna join?”

“In your dreams.”

“You have noooo idea.”

“Shush- before I end your lessons.”

Gojo laughs, loud and beaming. And you can’t help but smile to yourself, something bittersweet, making a hasty escape from the locker room before you stretched your luck too far. 

If only you’d taken your time.

Because then you might have seen a lone, towering figure standing by the wall leading to the doorway. Hidden by the sharp corner, and his lengthy raven hair. 

He watches as you waddle guilty away - as if leaving a crime scene - and Geto Suguru frowns. 

.

.

.

“Alright- it’s time to lock it in.” Yaga’s gruff voice bellows through every corner of the locker room, “Play your game, play fair, prove you belong. This is D1 basketball and I expect each one of you to play like it. Show those Kyoto fuckers who we really are.”

As deep cheers rattle the atmosphere, Gojo finds his hands almost too shaky to knot his laces - too full of adrenaline, full of pride.

Full of the thought that maybe you might be here in the stands, watching. Maybe.

Beside him on the bench, Geto silently tightens his own sneakers. And Gojo can’t help but crack a smirk, “Why so quiet today, Suguru? Don’t tell me you’re nervous about fucking Kyoto.”

“No, not at all.” He responds simply. 

And ‘simply’ would never be quite good enough for Gojo Satoru. Which is why he’s furrowing his twinkling eyes at the other man, “‘Nooo, not at all?’ Appropriate spaces for commas and all? Who are you- Nanamin?”

“Right.”

Gojo frowns, “You’re off today.”

“Are you sure that you’re not the one off?” Geto states, tense. Until he was registering what’d just slipped out of his mouth, immediately shooting into an upright stand. 

“What do you-”

“Forget about it-”

“No.” But he can barely take a single step before the taller man’s honed reflexes make a swipe at Geto’s elbow. Stopping his teammate in his tracks, Gojo’s voice dips low in that serious, tight way it usually never did. “What do you mean.”

A statement, not a question.

And his best friend can barely stand to look at him, head tilted slightly to the side, as if giving into the concerned looks thrown their way. “I told you not to play with her heart.”

Seething, “What?”

“Satoru, when I said I’d support your feelings for her, it wasn’t to make a fucking fool out of yourself.” Shrugging off the hand, which gives way easily. “So many years, and this is how you make a move? She’s my friend first- and you’re treating her like some fucking game.”

“She-” He gasps, face burning. “She’s just teaching me lessons in-”

But Geto always was the quicker of the two - and the more stern. “How long did you expect this to go on, huh? When you’re all done with your ‘lessons’, then what?” 

“I…I didn’t think-”

“Didn’t think that she might actually enjoy that nice restaurant downtown you’ve kept the pamphlet to since meeting her? Didn’t think that she might want to know that you’ve always kept extras of your jersey for her, her favorite flowers, her favorite movie, just in case?” Geto’s fists clench, “Didn’t think that it’s fucking stupid that you two aren’t together, yet? You deserve to be happy- but she does, too.”

Silence. Deafening, deafening silence. 

“What are you doing, man?”

“It’s sex-”

“Stop fooling yourself.”

As he watches Geto’s disappearing back, Gojo wasn’t sure whether he wanted you watching him anymore. 

But it still stung, just a little, when you weren’t.

Kyoto won that day. And Gojo Satoru has never faced a more devastating loss. 

.

.

.

“-my hometown friend, don’t you dare flirt with her, Satoru–”

What was Geto saying again? 

Ah, does it even matter? Gojo Satoru, freshly-titled ‘campus boyfriend’ after only a few hours on said campus, hadn’t heard a single word out of his high school best friend’s mouth after your name.

After you’d batted your lashes cutely and smiled his way–

Oh– blah, blah blah— He’s letting out an audible sigh as you begin speaking something or the other about your major, the usual for orientation day. Proper name, proper place, backstory stuff-

“-toru- Satoru–!” It’s only with a hearty smack on his shoulder that Geto manages to snap Gojo out of his daze, still staring at you from afar where you’d decided to talk to Shoko. And the black-haired man shifts his weary eyes between you n’ his other friend. “Oh no-”

“Suguru, I think I just found my wife-”

“Hell no.” Dramatically, he shakes the other’s shoulders as if desperately trying to jolt some sense into that basketball-addled mind of his. “Satoru, you’ve gotten about fifteen different phone numbers-”

Geto pauses as another fresh-faced student flounces up to the duo and gives them both two slips of paper with a number scrawled on, one that Geto’s immediately tearing up.

“-sixteen just today itself.” His dark brows furrow, as much as he loved his best friend, he knew the mind-numbing popularity that came with him, too. The reputation. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin who’s never held hands-” Ignoring Gojo’s protesting ‘hey!’ “-if you think I’m about to let you play any games with her heart then-”

“I wouldn’t even imagine it, Suguru. Really.” Leaning back in his chair, Gojo’s azure eyes stray to you - as they’ve always seemed to do since then. Second nature. And only a second before tearing them away, undeserving to have you notice. “There’s just…something.”

There’s a tone there that Geto couldn’t place.

Something tender. Something that makes his eyes light up like they did when he was about to nail a slam dunk.

“Something about her that makes me feel like I can win all the championships in the world.”

.

.

.

“O-oh my god, mm—” Your mouth hangs lewdly open, thighs trembling where they were thrown over the far end of your bed. 

Gojo had himself nose-deep in your syrupy wet pussy and it still wasn’t enough for him- he was still clawing both hands onto your thighs and forcefully dragging you halfway down the silken sheets. “What has- hah! what has gotten into you, Satoru-”

For perhaps the first time in his life, he doesn’t have an answer.

Can’t even think of one.

Not when the long, slimy edge of Gojo’s tongue was dipping past your drenched panties and pushing them juuuust barely to the side. Darkening that pale blue shade with the wetness of his maw, he’s plastering his taste buds to the slope of your pussy and watching you squirm.

And it’d started right after you’d arrived home, wondering whether it was too late to text him about the match - only to find the man of your thoughts himself sat outside your front door.

Waiting for you.

Towering, he’d thumped his head down on your shoulder in silence. 

That is, until you two had made your way inside-

“I-is this about not coming to your- ngh! game?” You’re wailing out a broken whimper, twitchy hands weaving between his ivory locks to try and steal a glimpse of his face. “Because Gakuganji held me back for a club thing and I’m sorry- fuck!”

Without a single warning, without even a speck of hesitation, your friend’s shovelling the inches of his tongue past your elastic entrance until that tight rim resists.

Until he’s keening into your puffy core at the tightness, until he’s usin’ a thumb to spread-spread-spreeeead your glittery pussylips apart even further. “Taught me- taught me lessons, didn’tcha, beautiful?”

Murmuring into your cunt, each syllable is ended off with a heavy lashing of his silver tongue. 

Spat straight into your quivering hole, Gojo’s licking away primally. Each raw scratch of his wet muscle trying to push past your hole, trying to fuck you the way he’s been aching to for years. “Taught me ta kiss those pretty lips- now you’re teaching me a whole hah- other type of kissing.”

“N-ngh, oh my god- Satoru.” He was just filthy. Both his babbling, pussydrunk words and his motions.

It’s like he didn’t know where to stick his tongue to like adhesive - wanting anything and everything, all at once.

From the throbbing nub of your clit, to the weepy orifice of your cunt. Though, he was making sure to lap up every ounce of slick glistening out of you, like the sweetest honey.

You’re whimpering, begging for fucking mercy from the wide, glissading edge of his tongue. You grip the soft tufts of his hair and try to lift him slightly off for dear life. “Fuck- Lesson number eight is to s-slow down–!”

“Then m’gonna hafta fail.” He’s rasping out, starved. 

Barely even breathing, whatever words escaping Gojo depart only reluctantly. Between each pant he’s forced to take by his screaming lungs, he’s unfastening his slobbery maw even wider to suck on your clit. 

Thighs closing sensitively ‘round his clammy head- “You’re being sooo—” You think that might just deter him, but he’s only climbing further up from his position at the foot of the bed, on the ground. 

Chasing your pussy no matter how much you were bucking. Feral. 

“Mmm, think I like it better when you hngh- shut me up like this.” He’s blubbering through a greedy mouthful of your cunt, slick-glossed mouth pinching your clit. 

You’re damn-near yelping as his plush, puckered lips start rollin’ side to side just to tease that nub like bubblegum. Your own thighs ache with the flesh-ridden press of his big, beefy biceps curling ‘round your thighs to push them even closer. “Can you even ngh- breathe?”

“Suffocate me.”

And he sounded dead-serious.

Throwing your trembling legs over two muscular shoulders, Gojo’s leering his handsome face impossibly closer.

Right up until the straight button of his nose bridge presses against your clit, and the front of his face smeeeears with a pathway of your pussy’s sweet, sweet juices. 

“Don’t care.” Spitting, a great glittery glob that sticks just to the side of your outer pussy and makes it so much wetter for him to start dipping his wide tongue inside. “Don’t care don’t care don’t care- I don’t need air, I just need- hah! You.”

Lavishing your snug hole with so much attention, you can’t help but clench ‘round his grazing taste buds. Letting your entrance be tugged n’ snagged according to Gojo’s every whim.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Letting him spit on your pussy once more-

“And her.” Slimy, wet muscle flopped right now, he was running through each line he’d read online about this like a gameplay. Zig-zagging from your clit n’ back to jackhammer into your hole, “We’d made such a loooovely couple, wouldn’t we, beautiful?”

And you don’t even know who he’s talking to you - you or your poor, battered pussy.

But before you can ask, Gojo’s patience snaps with a rut-

“Fuck, your walls-” Just as soon as you’re clamping your thighs surrounding his head. He’s whining, he’s shoving his face in deeper like the prolonged length of his tongue could scour your channel even more. 

Like that particular muscle could maze in a slithering up n’ down- Gojo’s sharp jawline strikes the base of your cunt and he groans in disappointment. Unable to dive in even deeper.

Feral. Thirsting, He’s nose-deep and still filling up your every orifice with his textured tongue for more, letting each ravenous taste bud stir about your sweet innards. “Your walls want me so ngh- badly. Wants ta suck me up so badly- look.”

“What do you- oh!” You flinch at the sudden warmth of another puddle of saliva striking your pussy dead-on, smearing about.

Gojo’s eyes were widened, mouth unfastened as far as it would go. “How the fuck doesn’t anyone get addicted?” Genuinely serious. Genuinely asking. 

“Y-you’re too much-”

“Oh, you want more?” Wait…what? You’re momentarily speechless at how his melty mind had just understood your sentence. Mouth thrashing about on overdrive, grin sleazy. “Heh, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

And then you’re snapping your head down in a split-second, just in time to see two of Gojo’s lengthy, roughened fingers tease the crevice of your slit.

All lightly calloused by basketball, he’s sloooowly circling your puckered hole. “Cute, s’like she wants ta- ngh- kiss me.” He’s giggling, prying apart your folds to ease his way in with a raw, noisy sluuuurp–! “Hope she doesn’t mind how looong they are- or do. My lesson number one is that you’re going to take it all.”

Bucking into his touch, and that makes him copy you - crushing the thick, bulging outline of his erection against the bottom of your bedframe. 

So hard that the mahogany panels creak– jostling you, right alongside the bed. “Fuck-” He hisses, looking down. “Look how you’ve got me - like a fucking animal.”

“You’re so filthy…” 

“S’all your fault.”

You’re sobbing now, legs twitching cutely on top of Gojo’s deltoid after every time his knobbled fingerpads scraped a spot that was particularly sensitive.

His size- oh, you should’ve expected a size to match a basketballer’s hands - because they’re plugging every nook n’ cranny without even trying. Scissoring your gooey walls far apart to claim each hidden area of yours, “All- all your fault.” 

Almost whimpering because it’s just that tight. He’s swervin’ rapidly and surely. “You made me like this-” But he wasn’t done- he was leaning over to spit a web of spit once more, dampening your soft cunt just enough to bully in a third finger. “Made me so stupid.”

Barreling straight into your g-spot. 

“Foooound it…”

“Oh- oh my god–” You’re losing your mind at this point, hips thrashing about. The blankets stick to you like they’re made of adhesive as you’re arching into the perfect curvature-

“Stay down.” Gojo barks - a stern edge to his voice. And before you can make a single move, he has one bicep pinning down your hips, maw opened to suck on your clit so you stay down.

Left too weak to do anything but cry out at the feeling of his tastebuds rolling over n’ over on your nub. Sensitive. Overstimulated. 

You’re gasping at the heated sparks of white that burst behind your lids, “Toru- I th-think m’close- don’t think m’gonna last- hck!”

“Told you I was good with my hands—” He slurs out, ruined on your pussy. "That's lesson number hck! three- maybe two? Ah, I dunno…”

Pump after pump, Gojo curls his digits so they bruise right into the spot locating your bundle of nerves. Feelin’ your soft walls clamp down sappily, “Only thing I do know is that I want you- hah-” Pulling back, he teeths your clit with a sinful squelch. “-oh, I wan’ you cumming on my mouth.” Fingering you so hard that the mountains of his knuckles were reddening with impact. “And I want you screamin’ my name every second of it.”

“Oh please-” The roughness of his fingertips are starting to plunge even deeper, as if Gojo was ready to probe into your womb right then and there. “Satoru-”

“Call me ‘Toru’, beautiful-”

“Toru-”

“Louder.”

Harder. 

It was so hard to speak with tiny sobs catching in your throat, with your body being run ragged by him. Lips wobbling with each long push of his digits- “Toru.”

“How about- ‘my Toru’?”

“My- my Toru—!” You’re squealing; the exact same moment that your pitched voice cracks, your sanity does, too. 

And in mere sultry nanoseconds, you’re shattering into white-hot explosions of bliss. Your orgasm sweeping your entire body with goosebumps, you can only scratch carnally at Gojo’s crowned scalp. 

Your fingers maneuvering his head up and down in sloppy gyrations, it’s as if you were riding his pretty features through each peak of euphoria. “M’cumming- oh-” Your high hitting you so hard that tears pinprick at your pupils, and Gojo was only happy to make them overspill. To dangle his hefty tongue out so that he can lap up your cunt with every drag. “Can’t believe you- oh. Are you sure this is your first time, Toru?”

He finches at the nickname, “Fuck yeah, sweet thing.”

Brushing his tastebuds up and down- probing against your clit. 

He was still ravenous.

Even when you’re blinking back your vision, though, you still couldn’t see with the way that Gojo’s velvety mouth made your pupils criss-cross constantly. 

Toes curling, limbs shaking with sensitivity. 

It was getting to the point that your mind was slowly going blank, spittle falling from your mouth. “I-I’m hngh- m’high’s over-” Still sparking somewhere at the back of your throat, even though you push and push at Gojo’s forehead, he’s only digging deeper. “Oh my god, Satoru-”

He blubbers, “M’fucking starved, beautiful. Been wanting this for sooo long.”

“Then shut up and fuck me.”

Oh.

Oh, that did it.

Because Gojo lurches his head up as if he’d just been zapped with electricity; eyes snapped open, strings of slick still connecting his lips to your swollen ones. 

“F-fuck you…?” He grunts- buying more time, those buried fingers of his pull out from your walls with a slurp. Finding their usual pathway between his greedy lips, he catches your look. “What? Haven’t I ever told you that you make me so–”

Thoroughly cleansed by now, Gojo smacks his lips with satisfaction. 

“-greedy?”

The dark glint in Gojo’s eyes makes you squirm your body slightly backwards- all the way up until you hit the headboard with a gasp. And he only looms closer. Only prowls up to you like he was closing in on the most appetizing prey.

And now that he’d gotten one taste of you, of course he’d be craving more. 

Like you were the sweetest of desserts, he’s gliding his tongue allll down those slick-glossed lips of his. Your juices worn halfway down his face - smearing up to his cheekbones - with utter pride. “And I think m’ready for another lesson now.”

You take one look at him - pupils glassy, face glistening, ears flushed - and immediately dart your hands down to Gojo’s belt buckle. 

Meanwhile he’s shedding himself free of his t-shirt, whatever’s left of your bra, hooking over your panties—

RIIIIIP—!

“Th-those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you fucking ten more.” Pointedly, Gojo stuffs the ruined fabric into the back pocket of his trousers before disposing of them somewhere by the side of your bed. “Then tear those off, too, next time.”

Next time.

“Excited ‘bout a ‘next time’?” Oh- fuck, you’d just babbled that out loud.

He couldn’t have looked more smug if he tried, pointed canines flashing in a smirk. His thick thumb dips into the hemline of his boxers, pulling them down in a flash.

And Gojo was hard - so fucking rock-hard that his upright erection smacks the front of his abs with a thwack! 

Long. Perfectly thick. Always just so pretty. Bedazzled by a few veins down his pinkish shaft, Gojo’s sensitive cock twitches as he’s panting. Ruby-red tip painting a horizontal line of precum, you’re mentally calculating the measurement and wondering just how deep he’d be inside of you. 

Swatting away your sheeny thighs, that’d just started to close. “Ah ah- where’d you think you’re taking her?” Before his glossy, sleek jaw unhinges ever-so-slightly in wait. 

“You want me to-”

“I’ve spit on her so many times.” Gojo muses, quirking one snowy brow. Holding you by the throat, he pushes his face into your personal proximity, “Think s’time for you to return the favor.”

Whimpering, restless, it was just so cute to him how you’re pressing your lips together shyly. 

Whacking a bead of slobber precisely onto the target of his tongue- and Gojo barely even gives you the time to register your little ministration before surging his entire body and kissing you. Open-mouthed, heated.

At the exact same time that his globed, weeping cock pushes straight past your swollen folds. 

But it wasn’t so easy- “F-fuck.” Gojo shutters his eyes, expression looking like he was just in prayer. Hiccuping, rutting- back and forth in rapid half-thrusts as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of your pussy any further. “What the fuck…what-”

“S-Satoru, are you okay?”

“No.” SMACK! He’s trying to strike his pelvis against your own so hard that your thighs are jostled. Fat cock stuck by the resistance of your cute, cute cunt. “No no no- s’just…I lost my virginity to you.” 

You’re speechless as he looks up at you with a giggle. 

Repeating, “I just lost my virginity to you and it’s too- good.”

“And you’re t-too big—” You claw all down his pale back, feeling every muscle flex underneath your touch. 

“Remember my first lesson?” Head tilted, the smile on Gojo’s face was oh-so-tender - even though his mushroom tip was furiously pumping in and out of you like anything but. “You’re going to- take it- all.”

Fuck, but he didn’t know who he was torturing more. 

Because your cunt gives way to swallow up one more of his solid, rovering inches - just past the slick line of his slit - and Gojo hunches over. He heaves. His vision blurs with tears- “Ohhh my god, I c-can’t.” Voice octaves higher, breaking. He’d just started to put it in and he was crying.

Shit, he’d learned nothing. 

With a hand pushing your left thigh open, Gojo’s trying to pull his ravaged cock out. Just too good for him to handle. Maybe he’ll keep some part of his sanity intact if he fucks you with just the tip-

But in that instant, your clingy insides are squeezing around him so tight and he’s thrusting.

Out-of-control. 

Fighting against the stretch, you’re clawing for the headboard above your scalp- “Oh my god- I don’t know if I can- fuck! It’s just so big.” Nine - nearly ten - inches throbbing at the mere sound of your voice. 

“Lesson number one lesson number one- oh, lesson number one-” Echoing like a broken record-player, he’s ruthlessly haaaauling you back with a hand latched onto your hip.

Soft grunts wafting your features like a furnace, “Breathe” Gojo begs into your ajar mouth, pinning you with the prominent muscles of his v-line. “Breathe- one- two-” With each stroke. “Breathe with me-”

Those exact same exercises that he’s taught himself over and over again during the toughest of training regiments. “Feel it in your s-stomach.” You’re nearly screaming as one of his over-large palms come pressing down on your stomach, making you feel like he’s spearing his plump tip all the way into your lungs. “Then let it allll out through your lungs- breathe w’me, one, two.”

One-two. In and out. One-two. In and out. 

Mewling, “One- t-two.” Mindless hips swervin’ back and forth to meet his desperate drilling and it makes him gasp.

“Breathe- breathe. Lesson one, you hafta take this-” Scrambling for your hips, for your throat. “Even just the tip. Just an inch.” Using the leverage to pull you down, “I’m begging here.”

“T-Toruuu–”

And it’s with a final, resounding spank of skin-on-skin that he’s managing to bottom out.

The hot, pulsating feeling of his sheathed cunt barely even registering in your mind before Gojo’s letting off a wet sob. It just felt too good. “You passed with f-flying colors, my beautiful.”

And now that he’d gotten started, he couldn’t stop.

Gojo was pounding you into your cheap bedsprings like a madman, like it was painful for his swollen, vein-covered cock to go even a second without dragging down your walls. Designing your slick insides with the patterns of his veins, “How are you reachin’ a-alll those spots, Toru?”

“Alllll those spots, huh?” Mockingly, he ends up pushing down on your tummy just like before. 

Except this time, Gojo takes the lecherous time to feel the dull thud! of his split-ended tip poking into your cervix. This time, he can follow each single inch you’re clenching ‘round—“Wh-what is…”

Pushing down harder. “Is that my-” Thrusting even harder. 

Gojo’s size is just so staggering that he’s feeling the exact bumpy outline of his mazing shaft. The way he was spreadin’ apart your walls with his circumference - it just renders his mouth watering.

Gracing you with a dopey grin, one that had drool spilling from one side of his rosy lips. Moaning, “Oh, just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect.”

Sweet-talker. You whine, just so you won’t pay too much attention to the way your heart races, “Shut up, Toru.”

“Yeahhh- say that again.” Bulky base just drenching with your sweet slick the harder he’s thrusting in, you can feel his rock-hard tip twitch after your words. “S’like you’re made f’me.”

“Shut up, Toru-”

Palm massaging down on the tummy bulge he was fucking into you, he could feel each flinch of his oversensitive cock. “See? See? The way this pretty pussy takes ngh- all of me. The way you make me react-” Pumpin’ a thorough push against your slick-filled sweet spots. “The way you make me s-sooo fucking hard. Ohhh, we fucking fit like a- a…”

Poor chatterbox Gojo Satoru is just so pussydrunk by now that he can’t even go on.

He can’t even speak. Can’t even breathe— entire fuzzy brain honed in on spearheading your walls with his flared cockhead like a flashlight. 

Hips gyrating into the exact angle that it takes for him to strike your needy, waiting g-spot. Hard. 

“There-” Your heart-shaped peripherals sprint to the back of your head, back jerking off of the mattress. “Right- ngh- there–!”

And, usually, Gojo would’ve taken this as the perfect opportunity to brag about how it was ‘so easy’ for him to find the almost-mythical g-spot. Usually, he’d have been snickering outright at the cutely awed expression on your face.

Usually.

But the only thing he was fucking capable of doing right now was marvel at both you and your pussy. Gaze darting up and down so fast it was almost like a blur. 

“Cat- hah, pussy got your tongue, Toru?”

“Sh-shut up…”

“You shut up.”

Shit, that makes him nearly cum. Right then and there.

And to cover up this little weakness, Gojo spanks your overstuffed pussy instead. Open-palmed, with the doughy tips of his digits striking accurately on your clit. 

“Y-you little- ngh.”

“What was that–?” Oh, it was like he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. And before you know it, he plants down three more rude smacks on the slope of your cunt; exactly in sensual unison with the thrashes of his cock. “Why don’tcha write my name on your clit, beautiful? Unless…” 

SMACK–!

You get the message fast enough, even despite your thoughtless mind. 

Your twitchy dominant hand slithers between your thighs, thumbing down your perky clit just in that way you liked. “T-Toru–” Trying for all your might to spell a ‘T’, “Oh- wait, Satoru.”

Then an ‘S.’

But you couldn’t do it just how his big fingers had managed to do, and the only thing you’re getting out is a sultry figure-eight. One that renders your throat dry, “Satoru- oh.” An ‘A’ that looks more like a silly lil’ ‘V’, “I can’t ngh- don’t think I can- fuck.”

And Gojo notices your little struggle - of course, he’s noticing. 

It’s the sweetest little entertainment for him, of course, watchin’ you get fucked too dumb to spell out his own name on your clit. Your lips wobbling when he finally smacks your hands away-

“Honestly- aren’t you supposed to t-teach me?” Groaning at the squelching noise of your growing even more aroused. “Watch and learn, my girl- fuck. My beautiful.”

But it’s not like he was any better, thank fuck you were too gone at this point to realize. Just as much as he was. 

It takes Gojo a few slips n’ slides to latch his plush thumb down on the nub of your clit, “F-first there’s a ‘T’- I mean, an ‘S.’” The dual stimulation of his shaft stretchin’ out your tiniest ridges inside, of his fingerpads writing on your clit, was simply incredible. “Then an ‘A’...‘T’...”

Even through the lust-fogged haze in your mind, you could distinctly make out the messy scribbles of Gojo’s fingerpads. 

S-A-T-O-R-U

Repeated. Over and over until it was like that pattern was burned onto your clit, joints working manually faster. Faster. 

S-A-T-O-R-U

S-A-T-O-R-U

S-A-T-O-R-U

And it’s so much that you don’t even realize you’re shrilling out his name with each movement- “Satoru-” Thighs kicking in pleasure, he’s quickly throwing them over his shoulder and folding you in half. Bending you into a mating press. “Satoru- Satoru Satoru—”

You feel a slimy, wet tendril gleam down your cheek, “Why’re you crying?” Gojo’s licking up salty tears you didn’t even realize you were setting free. “S’not because of my hck! biiiig fuckin’ cock, is it?”

In this mating press, your friend(?) had the freedom to plaster his washboard abs down your front. To scratch your pelvis with his pale white happy trail.

“S’not because I’ve wanted to do this for- for aaages, is it?” Nuzzling the crook of your neck, Gojo gives you a slam so hard that you’re being driven further up the bed.

Only for him to pull you back down. To do it over again.

And over and over and over again until the spongy layer of your cervix had memorized the size of his cervix. Stretching open your cozy lil’ walls, he pricks his strawberry divot firmly against the base of your womb like he was meant to be there. “Not because I’ve always wanted to- to break myself on this pretty pussy-”

Roughly, the wooden frame of your headboard rattles-

“O-oh-” Gojo slams his hand down on the banging headboard, remembering something from the earlier lessons about a landlord. 

Only for the mahogany panel to shatter, for your creaky bed to sag on one side– your eyes widen. Gojo Satoru had just broken the bed but he was still going.

He was still claiming your cunt with each sultry jackhammer, still babbling pussydrunkenly. “S’not because you’re haaaah- close, is it?”

“I am–” You don’t have half the mind to be shocked that he could feel your oncoming high before you. Walls clamping down with each vibration of electric euphoria, “M’gonna cum, Satoru. Lesson number nine is to make- me- cum-”

“You’re gonna cum.” More statement than question. “Really, really gonna cum? Because of ngh- me?” 

You can only nod.

And Gojo’s voice is small, cracking. “She’s gonna- fuck! gonna on my cock?” Furiously nodding, “My cock? Because of- oh- me? Fuck–!”

You’re barely even getting out an affirmation for those last few rapidfire questions of this before Gojo’s tense, driving cock explodes. All into thick, gushing ropes of cum that slather your walls.

And if you thought he’d cum in massive volumes before, then you weren’t ready to be faced with how eager he was to fill up your pussy.

Your geysering slick was nothing in comparison to the way Gojo was buttering up your slitted entrance, cobwebbing your tight hole shut with his sticky cum. Again. And again and again he was pumping each drop into you. 

“L-lesson number two-” But it was not like he would let you get off the hook that easy. And the flesh of your inner thighs sting when Gojo only speeds up, accelerating his shaft to target your g-spot in a way that makes you keen. “-n-never cum after me. Only before-” 

Two roughened crowns of his fingers tweak your clit– a final, ‘Y’ And you’re wondering what the hell that stands for.

Y-O-U-R-S

Gojo flushes as he finishes off the singular word, like he almost couldn’t believe it himself. Before pinching on your clit—“Sh-shit- shit shit shit, m’cumming, Toru.” 

Right now, watching your cunt quiver n’ cum around his cock was better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of. 

Because your mouth was possessive, crashing into his and whining his name with each twinge of your high. Your pretty eyes were practically mosaics of tears at this point, ones he could stare into for eons. 

And he does - straight into your irises when Gojo’s filling you up from the inside out. “I know-” Feeling his own seed slosh out of him and drip straight down to your womb. “Take it- take it, all inside like it- hah- should be. Like it was always meant to be.”

“Inside-” Gasping at the press of his tensed core, pushing down on your stomach. Right where he was spearing straight through you, “A-all inside, Toru.”

It was one of the best orgasms of your life, and, strangely enough, all of them seemed to have been pulled out by Gojo.

Who was filling you up until you were overspilling, like some fountain. 

Now purposefully slapping the veiny length of his shaft against the roof of your cunt, pounding you through each volt of pleasure until you’re seeing stars.

Until your thighs are left shaking stupidly, your mouth gaped, brain so filled with the static of your stomach being in knots that you don’t even register the damp splat-splat-spat–! splashing onto your shoulder.

Something…wet. 

At least, not for a few seconds until your eyesight can adjust. You’re blinking back your vision to look up and see that Gojo Satoru was crying.

Pretty cheeks ruddied, eyes glistening with even more unshed tears. And you wonder just how long he’d been holding them back.

His perspired head drops down to your shoulder like it had hours prior in front of your door, and you can make out the unsteady gasps of his words. “You- you took my virginity but…” Something raw. Something honest. “I-I just…”

He bites back his words until you’re forced to pull him away from the crook of your neck. Pushing back sweaty, ivory bangs until Gojo can look at you properly. 

Look you right in the eye when he utters—“I’ve always wanted to be yours, too.”

Your heart leaps to your throat, and so do those words that have always, always been on the tip of your tongue. “You already are, Toru.”

Something escapes from his lips - maybe a sob, maybe a laugh. But it’s a sound that makes you beam back, though, you think you’d never be able to match the sunlight in Gojo’s smile. Instead, you take the time to memorize the crinkle of his eyes, the wink of that lil’ dimple of his. 

“My lesson number three is I love you, my girl.” ‘My girl’, he can finally say it now. 

He can finally watch your slightly surprised reaction as you hear it, kiss-bitten lips twitching upwards into a grin. “My lesson number ten is I love you, too.” 

Heart shaking, body fully shivering at the music of those words dropping from your lips. “You- you don’t know how fucking long I’ve waited to hear those words.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, still smelling of that same cherry bodywash and utter fuckin’ love. “How fucking long I’d wait just to hear it again.”

“I have a feeling you won’t have to wait long at all, Toru.” You’re combing your fingers through his angelic hair, head turning to the side with a giggle once he starts pecking your face. Your jaw. Your neck. Over and over and over– 

Only for the moment to be broken when you gasp, “Satoru.” Gojo follows your beeline of sight, straight to the top of your bedside dresser. Right where it was proudly displaying a familiar black and gold box, one with a glaring ‘XL’. “We forgot about lesson number one.”

.

.

.

You think you’d never get used to wearing Gojo’s famous 06 jersey. 

An original, of course - one that’d been safely tucked away in the back of his closet, that he absolutely refused to tell you how long he’d kept ‘just in case’ for you. 

It drew stares, though, you think part of that came from being at the very front row to the final NCAA championship game. Your eyes follow each slide of pristine sneakers, each cut-throat pass, each swat of the basketball hitting the polished court. 

Tokyo vs. Curses; it was a tie. 

And right now, you didn’t care about the gaggles of numerous fans gossiping behind your back, or the way Coach Yaga kept yelling at Gojo about showing off for you - and the fact that he was telling your boyfriend to do more of it.

To leave no mercy once Geto’s passing to him, to sprint faster with only two seconds left on the clock, to slam dunk the basketball straight through the hoop—

And that’s exactly what he does. 

A buzzer rings, and suddenly you can’t even see Gojo’s figure through the heaps of confetti bursting from the arena. In blue and white for Tokyo Jujutsu University.

Tentatively, as you’re spotting family and coaches rush onto the court, you’re taking a step. Just a single one - but Gojo always did say he could find you amongst a thousand crowds. 

Heart leading him to you. 

As the confetti and streamers phase just a little, you spot him rip out of his team hug with a call of your name. Being dragged back as MVP, Geto pauses to dap his best friend up - before thumping him on the back and letting him tear through the throng of people to get to you. 

“Excuse me- excuse-” Maneuvering nimbly with his towering figure, “Beautiful–!” He’s calling out, loud enough to turn heads. But Gojo doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a fuck. Not when he’s crashing into your arms, and murmuring into your lips. Such a loving kiss. “Beautiful.”

His grin was contagious, and somewhere in the distance you can hear his team jeer. Hell, even Yaga seems to chuckle from somewhere. “Congratulations on the slam dunk, Toru.”

“It was always for you, my girl.”

A/N. FAWK- the things I would do to have him. Can you tell I’m ovulating because I made him whimper?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[meowmilkshake]

This is so cute 😭

[joeyclaire]

what’s it called when you’re so disconnected from reality that cold water doesn’t feel like anything and you can barely taste food anymore

[joeyclaire]

[lawoftheclaw-deactivated2025073]

Maladaptive deeply held belief: nobody could ever love me. Im going to die alone

Positive counterthought: maybe someone has an exceptionally rare form of mental illness that would cause them to make the grave mistake of wanting to fuck me

[tojicide]

the spider’s sense! a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

a/n. ┆ fanart art is by 长白山小葱头 on weibo. this is my first series on this app to celebrate hitting 1K! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post or send me an ask. from now on, please make sure your age is on your profile or i won’t add you to the list. if you don’t have it, i won’t remind you to add it.

main masterlist. ┆ moodboard. ┆ talk to me!

chapter one ── pest control.

caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one. (4.6k)

chapter two ── too easy, this game.

after you’re forced to check up on caleb, you realize that your methods of revenge can be much more interesting than you had originally anticipated. (3.8k)

chapter three ── pepper spray.

caleb tries to adapt to his newfound role as the web-slinging hero of linkon city, and you receive the opportunity of a lifetime. (4.8k)